


play it close to the heart

by galerian_ash



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dancing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-Canon, Protectiveness, Self-Destructive Behavior, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Without Feelings (Except Not), Slow Burn, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14985095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: Hank seeks oblivion after a rough case brings up a lot of memories. Connor interferes, and offers a mutually beneficial arrangement."I told you already, remember? I'll be whatever you want me to be. Your partner, your buddy to drink with, or...""My fuckbuddy," Hank said, interrupting him.Something in Connor's face shuttered. Hank had the briefest of moments to wonder if maybe — and then Connor nodded. "Yes," he said. "Your fuckbuddy."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is shaping up to be a lot longer than the others I've written for this fandom, so I thought I'd try posting a chaptered work for once. I hope that works for you guys! As always, thank you so much for reading ♥

One quick look at Ben was all it took for an ominous feeling to settle. This was a bad one.

Hank swore silently and glanced at Connor. This was only his third case since the new work laws had been passed. It was too soon for something like this, dammit.

If anything, Ben grew even more pale when he spotted them approaching, confirming his suspicions. A hate crime against an android perhaps, since Ben seemed particularly unhappy about the two of them being called out.

All they'd been told was that two bodies had been found at the Pitstop Motel. It was a seedy and dingy old motel, the kind of place you came to when you had things to hide. It wasn't Hank's first time investigating murders there, that was for sure.

"Hey, Ben," he greeted. "What do we have?"

Ben's eyes darted to Connor, then back to Hank again. "Listen, I think it would be best if someone else dealt with this one."

Connor stepped forward, heading for the open door of room number six.

"Wait," Hank said, trying to stop him. He shouldn't go in there alone, at the very least. The best course of action would be for Hank to check it out first, and then he could decide whether to involve Connor or not.

"Let him go, Hank," Ben cut in, grabbing his arm and holding him in place.

Connor went inside.

"Dammit, Ben, what are you thinking? If it's _that_ bad, he shouldn't..."

"No, you don't understand. This isn't about him."

"What?" Hank stared at Ben, but he seemed unwilling to elaborate — or maybe he just didn't know what to say.

Something heavy coiled around his guts. A feeling of dread, accompanied by a little voice inside of his head that knew exactly why Ben didn't want him going in.

Connor reappeared.

He stepped right up to Hank, bodily trying to lead him back to the car.

"What the hell?" Hank demanded, planting his feet.

"Hank," Connor said, and that right there was enough to make the little voice start shouting. Connor never called him anything but 'Lieutenant' while they were working. "Trust me, please. Let someone else handle this."

"What the fuck is with you two?!" Hank snapped. He shouldered past Connor and entered the motel room.

There was a man on the floor — human, late thirties. There was a gun in his hand, and a large hole in his skull from where he'd blown his brains out.

Oh. So this was why Connor hadn't wanted him to see. A suicide.

The relief was almost staggering, and he was about to turn around and reassure Connor when he saw it. The door to the bathroom was open, and there was someone in the bathtub.

A small hand, smeared with blood, just barely sticking up above the rim.

He took a step forward, body moving on its own. He heard Connor behind him, speaking, but he couldn't make out a single word. He just kept walking, getting closer and closer.

And then there he stood, staring down at the body in the tub.

It was a boy, no older than seven. He'd been shot once, in the stomach. His face was frozen in pain and fear — Cole's face had looked peaceful, like he'd just gone to sleep and would open his eyes any moment.

He couldn't stop looking. He _wanted_ to, God, he was desperate to get away from the gaze of the boy's unseeing eyes — but he just couldn't move.

Connor suddenly took over his field of vision, cramming himself between Hank and the tub.

"Hank," he said, voice low. "Let's go, okay?"

"No," Hank heard himself answer. "We have a job to do."

Connor's eyebrows drew together, looking so sad that Hank felt like screaming.

"Murder-suicide, I'd say. Do you agree?"

"Yes," Connor replied. "Roger Jenkins and his son, Elliott."

"Possibly a divorce leading to the mother getting sole custody. But why the stomach? Most cases of this sort has the perpetrator making a clean kill, not — not like this."

"I think..." Connor trailed off, hesitating. Hank gave him an urging look. "I think the boy struggled. He has some of his father's skin under his fingernails. It matches a fresh scratch on Jenkins' arm. He fought back, and the gun went off. Then Jenkins went out here and shot himself."

"After staying with his boy till he was gone, though. Right?"

Connor lowered his head. "He died approximately five minutes before his son."

So he had died alone, just like Cole. Sure, he'd been surrounded by people like the android surgeon and nurses, but no one that he knew. Hank hadn't been in there with him, hadn't been by his side when it mattered the most. He'd failed his son, had let him die all alone in a room filled with strangers.

Someone gripping his shoulder tore him back to the present. Connor. "There is nothing more for us to do here. We've done our job, and now we're leaving."

It wasn't a request this time.

Hank nodded, shrugging out of Connor's hold and walking away from the motel room. He ignored Ben and his pitying stare, and went straight for the car, Connor at his heels.

That wouldn't work for what he needed to do.

"Can you get back to your apartment on your own?"

"Hank, I really think I should go home with you."

"I didn't ask what you thought," he hissed. "Just answer the fucking question."

"Of course I can," Connor said. "But you shouldn't be alone right now."

Hank got in the car and slammed the door in Connor's face. He had no intention of being alone.

\----

It'd been months since he'd been here last, but the Lethe bar still looked the same. Same kind of clientele too, and that was what he was truly after.

He ordered a double whiskey and began looking around. It wasn't exactly hard, locating the biggest and meanest-looking guy in the room.

He was sitting at a table, laughing loudly at his own jokes. He already had company; two young men, looking at him with ill-concealed lust. Hank didn't get it — the guy had a snake tattooed on his shaved head, for fuck's sake. Still, regardless of how ridiculously unsubtle he was, he suited Hank's purpose perfectly.

And so he walked up to the table. The group fell silent and Tattoo turned to sneer at him. "What's your problem?"

"Do you want to fuck?" Hank asked. He drained the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down on the table as he waited for an answer.

Tattoo stared at him for a moment, incredulous, then burst into laughter. His two companions immediately joined in, cruel snickers mingling with Tattoo's boisterous laugh. It was enough to give anyone a headache.

"You're not my type, old man."

"So you only go for virginal boys, huh? Guess they don't have anything to compare with, so they can't realize what a lousy lay you are."

Tattoo stood up in one swift movement, making his chair fall clattering to the floor. "Fuck you."

"That's the idea," Hank challenged.

Tattoo glared at him.

It could go either way. He could pull Hank aside, maybe out to the alley for a rough fuck and to kick him around a bit. Or he might just get a beating, plain and simple.

Either way, Hank would be able to disconnect from reality for a bit. The kind of oblivion he sought couldn't be found at the bottom of a bottle. Not today. Not with the memory of the boy at the motel overlapping with the memory of Cole.

Besides, drinking himself unconscious was too good for him; he didn't deserve the easy way out.

"Come on, kick his decrepit ass already!" one of the virgins yelled.

That clearly decided it. So it was to be a beating, then. Fine. Hank closed his eyes as Tattoo began to draw back his fist.

The punch never landed.

All that happened was that he heard a surprised gasp, and then a groan of pain. Hank opened his eyes.

Connor stood there, between him and Tattoo. Connor's hand was gripping Tattoo's raised fist, and judging from the pained look on Tattoo's face he was squeezing _hard_.

"What the..." he began, only for Connor to cut him off.

"We're leaving. Now." His voice was very level, the kind of carefully enunciated tone that indicated anger just barely held in check.

In the corner of his eye Hank saw a couple of guys grab the cue sticks off the pool table. Shit, this was about to get real ugly real quick.

"Better make it fast," he mumbled.

"I know," Connor replied. "I see them."

He let go of Tattoo's fist and stepped away. His arm went across Hank's back, ushering him to the exit.

They were almost there when one of the guys came rushing forward. Connor pushed Hank behind him and caught the cue stick being swung at them with his other hand.

"Back off," Connor warned. The cue stick snapped in two.

Hank grabbed his arm and dragged him through the door, hoping no one would be stupid enough to follow them.

They quickly made their way to his car and got in. Hank floored it.

"What the fuck were you doing in there?!"

"Not while you're driving," Connor said.

"What?"

"We'll talk when we get back to your place. Not now."

There was something in the way he said it that made Hank turn his head and look. Connor was angry — furious, even. Hank had never seen him like that before.

He grit his teeth. So be it. He wasn't exactly jumping for joy himself, after all.

Not another word was spoken during the drive, the silence only broken when they walked through the door and got jumped by Sumo.

"I'll take him out," Connor said.

"I can take him out myself," Hank shot back, anger rising. He'd be damned if he let Connor meddle in this, too.

Connor stiffened and seemed about to argue, but then he just... deflated. The corners of his mouth turned down in a sad frown, and his shoulders slumped. "Just stay here," he said quietly, " _please._ "

Well, fuck. As it turned out he'd rather be damned than say no to Connor when he looked like that.

"Whatever," he muttered, turning around and heading for the kitchen. He needed a drink.

The soft click of the door signaled Connor's departure, and Hank sighed. He was still pissed, yet most of all he was tired. Weary to the bone, and yearning to just shut off already. But merely going to bed would be a one-way ticket to some really nasty nightmares, that he knew from bitter experience.

If only Connor hadn't shown up, then he could've gotten to pass out if he'd been really lucky. Now, the best he could do was drink; it was the only option he had left, however insufficient it may be.

He pulled out a kitchen chair and got to work.

He was on his third glass when Connor came back. He still looked forlorn, but somehow his face fell even further when he saw Hank drinking.

That was just about the last thing Hank needed right now. He closed his eyes. "Look, do us both a favor and go home. We can talk about this tomorrow." Or never. That was quickly shaping up to seem like the best choice.

"I'm not going anywhere, Hank." Connor's voice was _right there_ , and Hank was unable to suppress a flinch. Sometimes he forgot how silently Connor could move when he wanted to.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Connor picking up the bottle. He moved to the sink.

"Connor..." he cautioned.

Connor hesitated for a split second, and then he poured out the rest of its contents.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hank snarled, getting to his feet.

"You need to stop drinking."

"That's none of your goddamn business."

Connor didn't deign that with an answer, but from the look he gave Hank it was crystal clear that he felt it was.

"What were you doing in that bar, Hank?"

Hank snorted. "I asked you first, remember? You didn't want to talk in the car, fine. But we're not in the fucking car now, so answer me. What were _you_ doing in there?"

"I followed you." He said it so casually, like he was talking about the weather or some shit.

"You followed me," Hank repeated. "How, exactly?"

"There were plenty of taxis around the motel."

"Bullshit. That might've worked back when I was young, but now? Those driverless taxis need an actual destination. Going 'Follow that car!' ain't gonna cut it."

Connor rolled his eyes. "I hacked it," he said, speaking slowly as if he was trying to explain something obvious to a particularly dimwitted guy.

Apparently Hank was that guy.

"Oh, okay, of course. You hacked the taxi, great. You do realize that a cop probably shouldn't do shit like that, right?"

"Just like how you don't participate in illegal gambling?"

If the bottle had still been within his reach he might've hurled it at Connor. " _Why_ did you follow me?" he asked instead.

"I was worried about you," Connor said.

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. But you didn't seem to want to. You were goading that man into hurting you, and you weren't even going to defend yourself."

"Believe it or not, but that _was_ me taking care of myself. I know you can't understand, but the alternative was far worse."

Connor's face softened. He took a step closer to Hank, raising his hand — close enough to touch, but just letting it remain still in the space between them. "I understand more than you think. I just don't know why you went to a stranger."

Hank's mouth was dry, making it hard to talk. He kept glancing down at Connor's hand, turned palm up as if he was asking Hank for something. "Who else would I go to?" he finally managed to get out.

Connor's hand twitched, fingers curling and uncurling. Unable to resist any longer, Hank lifted his hand and placed it in Connor's. He looked up, uncertain of what he'd find.

Connor was smiling softly, but there was an edge of sadness to it. His hand closed around Hank's, squeezing gently. "Me. I'm right here, Hank."

"What — what are you saying?"

"I told you already, remember? I'll be whatever you want me to be. Your partner, your buddy to drink with, or..."

"My fuckbuddy," Hank said, interrupting him.

Something in Connor's face shuttered. Hank had the briefest of moments to wonder if maybe — and then Connor nodded. "Yes," he said. "Your fuckbuddy."

Hank pulled his hand away. "If you honestly think I'd take advantage of you like that, or that I'd _use_ you as if you were an object, then — then you don't know me at all."

"No, that's not..."

"Jesus Christ, Connor. You're a person. Your own person; nobody else's. You should be whatever _you_ want to be." The notion that Connor felt he must bend himself to Hank's wishes and needs was horrible, and made him feel like a real piece of shit. Why hadn't he seen this before? How could he have missed it?

Connor shook his head. There was a glint of panic in his eyes as he reached out for Hank's hand again. Hank stepped back, out of his reach.

"I think you should go, Connor. Maybe — maybe we shouldn't spend so much time together. It's my fault, I didn't think." It was the truth. He hadn't thought about what was best for Connor. All he'd known was that being around Connor made him feel happy for the first time in years, and he'd wanted to hold on to that for as long as he could. Selfish and stupid, a new low even for him.

"Stop it, please. _Listen_ to me." Connor's eyes flickered down, and when he raised them again they were calm, panic gone. His LED was a persistent red however, suggesting that there was a lot more going on under the surface. "You'd be doing me a favor," he said.

Hank raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I — I still have a lot left to learn about being a person. You're right about that, but I promise you, you're not affecting me or turning me into someone I'm not. I offered because it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"I don't see how," Hank countered. Connor's LED was now a spinning yellow.

"Being with you would teach me how to connect with someone on a sexual level."

"Okay, stop right there. You'll learn that in your own time, Connor. Don't rush it. Just wait till you find someone you care for like that."

The LED went back to red. "I... I already found that person. So I can't wait."

An unexpected and completely misplaced feeling of disappointment robbed him of all words. Connor was in love? With whom? Was it someone Hank knew? What was so damn special about them to have Connor so desperate to impress them in bed?

"Please, Hank."

"Couldn't you just tell them how you felt? So what if you're inexperienced, if they feel the same way they wouldn't mind letting things develop on their own."

"No. That won't work."

Whoever Connor had his sights set on, there was one thing Hank was certain of. They seemed to be a total prick.

"Please. Help me learn, and let me be there for you in return."

Hank swallowed. If he said no Connor might ask someone else. That was... an unbearable thought, for some reason. "Alright," he said, feeling like he was sealing his fate.

Connor's LED returned to blue. He smiled. "Thank you. Do you still want to have sex tonight?"

"No! Holy shit, don't — don't ask like that. Fuck."

Connor nodded slowly, as if he was mentally adding it to a list of things not to do with his potential lover-to-be. "I understand. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'm just tired. I'm gonna go to bed."

"Do you mind if I spend the night?" Connor asked, gesturing towards the couch. "It's late, and if we wanna get to work on time you won't get much sleep. This way we'll save some time and you can sleep a while longer, since you don't have to stop by my place to pick me up."

"Okay, sure. Sounds like a plan."

"Not that you have to pick me up," Connor hurried to add. "I've told you that before. I'm quite capable of getting to work on my own."

"Yeah, I'm well aware. I don't mind, though."

Connor smiled again, warm and bright, as if Hank had said something exceptionally nice to him. It made no sense, and he was too damn tired to try to figure it out.

"Alright. Well, good night, then."

"Good night, Hank. I'll be right here if you need me."

It shouldn't be a comforting thought, but so help him, it was.


	2. Chapter 2

It was hard to believe, but the night had passed without any dreams.

Hank stared at the ceiling as he stretched his limbs. He even felt rested, which was extremely rare. He might have slept the whole night through, for once — no tossing and turning, and no walking around the house like a restless ghost.

Or wait, no, he'd woken up at one point. He vaguely remembered rolling over and seeing someone standing in the doorway. He'd been half-asleep, not really lucid, but somehow he'd known it was Connor. And he'd felt safe, able to just close his eyes and go back to sleep.

Hank rubbed a hand over his face, groaning, On second thought it had probably been his imagination or something.

He glanced at the watch on the nightstand and swore. They were already two hours late for work, dammit.

He hurriedly got dressed and made a beeline for the bathroom.

Connor was in the kitchen when he came out, removing a plate from the fridge and popping it in the microwave. "I didn't know if you'd be hungover, so I just made some sandwiches."

"You didn't have to do that. I don't need to eat, and we're gonna be even later if I do."

Connor fired off a grin and winked at him. "We arrive when we arrive."

"Wow," Hank said, laughing. "I've really corrupted you, huh?"

Connor took out the plate and put it on the table. "Only in a good way," he replied, smiling. He got another plate from the fridge and set it down next to the first. "That one's a BLT, the other is scrambled egg and ham."

"I had all of those ingredients at home?" Hank asked, doubtful.

"No, I went by the store when they opened. Milk or orange juice?"

"Uh, milk. Thanks." He hesitated, before adding, "You don't have to cook for me, you know. I've told you that."

Connor pulled out a chair and sat down. "Yeah, I know. But I like it."

Truth be told, Hank liked it too. Way too much. Almost every time Connor came over he ended up cooking for Hank, and he always sat at the table even though he didn't eat anything himself.

It was nice. Really nice, the kind of thing he could get used to if he wasn't careful. Having someone care for him like that, and keep him company during meals, it — it made the house feel like a home again.

"So, what did you do during the night? Mm, this is so good," he added in between bites.

"I'm glad. And I didn't do anything special, really. Listened to some music and read one of your books. Took Sumo on his morning walk, and a couple of other things."

Hank couldn't help but wonder if watching him sleep had been one of those other things. Not that he was about to ask, though. He just hummed in response and continued eating.

"Oh, by the way, Sumo found this stick — almost more like a log — that he absolutely had to take with him. I managed to convince him to not bring it inside, but he dropped it right on the porch. So don't trip over it when we leave."

"Thanks for the warning. He's amassed quite a collection over the years — only to chew 'em all to pieces first chance he gets."

Connor's lips curved into an amused smile. "Yeah, I've noticed that. Guess they must taste delicious."

"Just like this, then. Thanks for the breakfast," Hank said, getting up to place the plates and glass in the sink.

"You're welcome," Connor replied. He was still smiling, but it had turned soft around the edges, like Hank had been the one who'd done something nice for him.

Forcing himself to look away, Hank grabbed his keys and wallet. "Now it's really about time we get to work. We gotta get that report written," he said, sighing. He really didn't want to have to think about that case any more, but there was no way around it.

"I already did that. I sent it in, too."

"You did what?" Hank stared at Connor, who seemed utterly calm.

"I apologize for using your computer without permission."

"I don't care about that, and you know it! What the fuck do you mean, you wrote it? _And_ sent it in?"

Connor crossed his arms over his chest. His mouth was set in a stubborn line. "There was no reason for you to have to go through it all again."

"No reason? Are you kidding me? It's my job," he snapped.

"It's my job too. And it's also my job to look out for my partner."

It was hard to stay angry when he knew Connor had only acted out of concern. And honestly, he was _glad_ he didn't have to deal with it. The case was going to stay with him as it were; but not having to go over every detail and look at the photographs was going to make it a little easier to bear.

"You could at least have let me read the damn thing before you sent it in," he muttered without any real heat.

"That would've defeated the whole purpose," Connor replied.

Hank grimaced. He knew when he was beat. "Let's just go."

Connor smiled in that enraging manner that made it clear he knew victory was his. Hank wrenched open the door and stalked out. Or, well, he stalked for about a step and a half, and then he promptly tripped over Sumo's damn log.

He probably would've fallen flat on his face if it hadn't been for Connor's steadying hand. "Careful, Lieutenant," he said, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Not for the first time, Hank felt torn between the urge to punch him and the urge to kiss him.

As usual he did neither.

\----

If Connor had been a poodle before, he was now a bloodhound.

He seemed to be attuned to Hank's every move, and he could feel those all-seeing eyes staring at him constantly. Of course, every time he glanced up in an attempt to catch Connor in the act, he was looking elsewhere.

It made Hank feel like it might all be in his head, maybe as a result from the arrangement they'd agreed on last night. Connor hadn't mentioned it at all since then, and didn't seem to be particularly affected by it.

In contrast, it was all Hank could think of.

So it was a good thing it was a slow day. There was an open-and-shut case after a botched liquor-store robbery had left the assailant dead, and that was it. Rest of the day was spent in the office, making calls about the upcoming party the department threw once a year and looking at the new photos of Damian that Chris had brought in.

It was a relief to get out of there at last. But apparently Connor wasn't ready to say bye just yet, for he turned to Hank when he stopped the car to drop Connor off. "Want to come up?" he asked.

"Nah, I should be getting home."

"Just for a little while," Connor persisted.

His inability to say no to Connor was getting to be pretty pathetic. Hank nodded. "Sure, okay."

He pulled into the parking lot instead, and then followed Connor to his apartment.

"Shit, Connor," he said, looking around. "You still haven't done anything with the place."

It was just as barren as the last time he'd been there. No furniture aside from the kitchen table and two chairs, and the bed — immaculately made and looking as if it had never been used. There were no trinkets or other items, nothing on the walls. No plants, no TV.

"You can't even tell anyone's living here."

"Sure you can," Connor shot back. "Do you want something to drink?"

He opened the fridge and Hank walked over to join him, curious. He'd expected the fridge to be just as empty as the rest of the apartment, but that wasn't the case.

There was a six-pack beer in there, and three bottles of soda. Pineapple-passion flavor.

Next to the fridge, in a neat pile on the counter, lay a bunch of take-out menus. Hank rifled through them — every single one was a place he frequented.

"I have some pasta I can boil, and some canned ham and other things. Or I can go down to the store and get fresh groceries, if you want."

Hank didn't turn around to look at him. Connor's place was barren, but the things he did have were all meant for Hank.

It hurt, in a strange way. He felt sad for Connor, living in this empty place. But more troubling than that were the undefinable feelings over seeing the things Connor had kept on hand just for him.

"I can call for take-out too, if you'd rather that?" Connor sounded hesitant, no doubt caused by Hank's reticence.

He forced himself to get a grip and turned around, meeting Connor's gaze.

He wanted to reach out and pull Connor in for a tight hug. Wanted to ask if he'd forgotten about last night, or if he'd changed his mind. Wanted to ask who he was in love with.

"No, you know what. Fuck this. We're going shopping."

\----

I didn't actually need any of these things," Connor said. "Still, I had fun. So thank you."

"What are you thanking me for? It's not like I paid for it."

"You paid for this."

Hank glanced over. Connor was sitting with the alarm clock in his hands. Hank had seen it, immediately knowing he'd have to get it for Connor. It was in the shape of a classic old-school robot, shiny blue and with funny-shaped hands.

"Well, yeah. Of course I paid for _that_. It was a gift."

Connor looked so ridiculously happy at hearing that, making it really difficult to turn his attention back to the road. He'd just meant it as a joke, a dumb 'I saw this and thought of you' sorta thing. The way Connor was acting you'd think the damn thing was made of gold or something.

"It's not a big deal," he muttered, because he really didn't like the tight feeling in his chest.

"It is to me. It's the first thing anyone's ever given me, and it's from _you_. That makes it even more special."

Hank gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles going white.

A minute later he pulled up in front of the garage and got out. Then, and only then, did he realize that he'd driven back to his place.

"Fuck," he swore. "Pure reflex, I guess. Want to come inside for a while or should we just get back in the car?"

"I think Sumo would be upset if we drove off again," Connor replied, and as if on cue Sumo started barking.

"Good point."

They'd stopped by the house on their lunch break, and had taken Sumo for a walk then, so Hank didn't feel bad about just letting him run around in the yard for a bit and do his business there.

"Want me to make you something to eat?" Connor asked once they were inside, to the surprise of absolutely no one.

"No, I'm fine." The furniture store they'd bought Connor's bookcase at had had a hot dog vendor just outside. He'd eaten two, so he was still pretty full. No need to make Connor cook for him yet again.

"Okay," Connor said. He looked restless, fingers twitching as if he was rolling a coin over them — and shit, Hank really should give that back to him.

"I apologize in advance," Connor suddenly said, "but I have no experience with this. I don't know how to read the signals, I can only go by instinct. And I know you said not to directly ask, but — did you bring me home with you because you wanted to have sex?"

Well, at least that answered the question of whether or not Connor had forgotten about their deal.

"No," Hank said, voice carefully measured, "I didn't bring you here for that."

"Oh. I misread the situation, then. I'm sorry."

Hank went to grab a beer from the fridge. He was going to need it. "But I guess this is as good a time as any to talk about it."

"Talk about what?"

Hank hesitated. What was the tactful way of asking a guy what exactly he was packing underneath his pants? 'Hey, Connor, do you have a dick?' Yeah, that'd be real classy.

"Hank?"

"Alright. For starters, how are you — I mean, do you have — uh..."

Connor stared blankly at him. Great. Fucking fantastic. Hank debated getting something stronger than beer.

"What kind of equipment do you have? Because that's gonna determine what kind of things I can teach you." God, he felt so creepy saying that — teach Connor, for fuck's sake. Like he even could.

"Oh, that," Connor said, scoffing lightly. "I'm fully equipped."

"What? I thought that only applied for sex models."

Connor shrugged. "I was CyberLife's most advanced prototype. I think they wanted me to be able to do everything their lesser models could, and more. They probably would've cut out certain features once they started mass-producing the series, depending on what had been useful during my test run."

"Wow. Okay, that's... That's fucked up, but okay."

Connor looked away. "Sorry if you find it off-putting."

"No, hey, that's not what I meant. It's just — those bastards at CyberLife, you know? I get pissed when I think about how they treated you."

"They treated everybody like that," Connor said, lips quirking into a wry smile.

Perhaps so, but Hank didn't care about everybody else. Not as much as he cared about Connor, in any case.

"Anyway," Connor continued, "while I do have the equipment of the HR400, I lack the knowledge and skillset." He said it apologetically, as if thinking Hank might be disappointed.

"Shit, I don't give a damn about that. It's better this way. You get to discover what you like on your own terms, instead of having it crammed into your head to make you the so-called perfect lover."

"Yeah, I guess that's true. I didn't think about it like that." He smiled at Hank again, and this time it reached his eyes.

Hank stared into those brown eyes, almost believing that their golden warmth could be for him — and then he shook his head and got back on track.

"One more question. The person you're in love with... Is it a man or a woman?"

"Man," Connor said.

Alright. That was probably good, if Hank was going to be able to give him any useful pointers at all.

He hesitated. "Is it — is it someone I know?"

Connor stared at him for a moment, silent. As he opened his mouth to reply Hank hurriedly cut him off. "No, wait, don't tell me. I don't wanna know." A horrible thought occurred to him, and he added, "But it's not Gavin though, right?"

Connor looked so genuinely _offended_ that Hank couldn't help bursting into laughter.

"I'm glad that amuses you," Connor said drily. "At least now I know what humans feel like when they need to vomit."

Hank laughed harder. "Sorry, but I had to ask."

"Right. Sure you did." He sounded annoyed, but there was still nothing but fondness in his eyes as he looked at Hank, so it couldn't be all that bad.

"Do you have any more questions?"

"No, I think that settles it. For now, at least."

"Good," Connor said, taking a couple of steps forward to stand in front of Hank. "Because there's something I've been wanting to do all day."

He leaned forward, eyes beginning to drift shut. A flash of panic went through Hank, not unlike the way he'd felt the first time someone had pulled a gun on him, back when he'd been a beat cop.

He stepped back, raising a hand. "Wait."

Connor immediately took a step back as well. Hank appreciated that; it made him feel less crowded, and made it easier to breathe.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just — I'm open to anything you want. Except kissing."

Connor frowned. "Isn't kissing a really important component?"

"That's why. You shouldn't kiss someone unless you genuinely have feelings for them. It's too personal, too intimate — it should be special, reserved for the one you love."

There was a glint of disappointment in Connor's eyes, and something akin to sadness. Still, he nodded. "Okay, if that's what you want."

"Yeah. It is."

It wasn't what he wanted. No, it was a lifeline he was throwing himself, because he knew that if he allowed himself to kiss Connor he'd be lost. He would start to believe that their arrangement was something more than it truly was.

Hell, he'd been on a slippery slope since the day he met Connor. If he stopped to think — to _feel_ — he'd be faced with things he didn't want to admit.

Starting this with Connor had the potential to be the deathblow, in more ways than one. But he owed it to Connor to not let on, and to do his best to keep emotions out of it. Which was why he was trying to stack the deck by ruling out kissing.

This way, when Connor felt ready to move on to the object of his affections, Hank would be able to let him go.

...Yeah, and if he told himself that enough times he might even start to believe it.

Connor moved forward again, slowly reaching out to take Hank's hand in his. He lifted it up and pressed a kiss to the palm. "This is okay? Just not on the lips?"

"Sure," Hank forced out.

One more kiss, this time on the inside of his wrist — Connor could probably feel the way his pulse was racing.

"Can we go lie down?" he asked. He still held Hank's hand, thumb moving in a soothing little rhythm against his skin.

Hank nodded in response and led the way to the bedroom. Connor closed the door behind them. The soft click sounded very final; there was no turning back now.

High time to pull himself together.

His hands only shook a little as he started to unbutton Connor's shirt. Connor instantly mimicked the action, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. He started to remove the T-shirt beneath as well, but Hank stopped him.

He wasn't even sure why he did it, but even just the loss off the shirt had made him feel more exposed. Maybe if he could keep things focused on Connor it'd be easier.

He finally got the last button undone and pulled off Connor's shirt. He let it fall on the floor next to his own — Connor's eyes flickered down, almost as if he debated picking them up and folding them neatly.

Chuckling softly at the thought, Hank bent his head and nipped at Connor's throat. The skin was soft and warm as he licked a trail down to Connor's collarbone. He picked a spot and sucked, trying to see if he could leave a mark.

"Hank," Connor whispered. His hands slipped up under Hank's T-shirt, fingernails raking down his back. He moved forward, gently pushing Hank down on the bed.

He climbed on the bed himself, a leg on each side of Hank's body. "Hank," he repeated, as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Connor's hand went to his T-shirt again, pushing it as far up as possible while still leaving it on. "Okay?" he asked.

"Mm."

His fingers moved over Hank's chest, teasingly rubbing against his nipples and then skirting away. Connor bent his head, bestowing an infinitely tender kiss to the spot right over his heart.

And it wasn't as if he hadn't had sex in ages. He'd been with several men whenever things had just gotten to be too much. Faceless, nameless men.

But it had never been anything but a rough fuck. None of them had given a damn about whether he came or not, and that was the way he'd wanted it. Sometimes he hadn't even gotten hard — it tended to be fifty-fifty in those cases; he either got the shit kicked out of him for the insult, or he got mocked and laughed at.

So yeah, it wasn't as if he had gone without sex for a long time or anything. He'd been fucked.

But the problem was that Connor wasn't fucking him.

Connor was making love to him. And that? That he couldn't handle.

Each touch Connor bestowed upon him was followed by those perceptive eyes, closely watching to make sure Hank was enjoying it.

He wasn't. He wanted Connor to stop. It hurt somewhere inside of him. This wasn't what he'd signed up for, this wasn't their deal.

But regardless of how he felt his body was responding for him. It arched up to meet each cool touch of Connor's fingers as he trailed them down Hank's chest; it spread his legs in a silent plea; and, worst of all, it forced up a deceptive mantra from his throat. "Please, please, don't stop, stay with me, please," it said.

"Shh, it's okay," Connor murmured. "I'd never hurt you."

He was _supposed_ to. He was supposed to fuck Hank and then leave directly after coming. That was the way this worked.

And Hank was meant to be teaching Connor, wasn't he? What a joke. The only thing he could teach Connor was to stay away from old wrecks like him, because he was fucking pathetic. One gentle touch and he fell to pieces.

"Hank, hey. Look at me."

Hank blinked up at Connor — his eyes had been tightly squeezed shut without him even realizing it.

"Stop thinking," Connor said, voice soft. He reached out to stroke Hank's cheek with the back of his fingers.

Hank blinked a few more times until Connor was less blurry. "I'm not," he replied. His voice sounded oddly hoarse and unsteady. "C'mon, keep going."

"Maybe we should wait. It's my fault, I shouldn't have rushed it."

That sounded as if Connor was going to get off the bed and go home, and — no. Hank sat up and pushed Connor to the side, down on his back.

He moved his hand to Connor's groin, and thank God, he was hard. A sharply indrawn breath was the only reaction Connor gave, but that told him all he needed to know.

"It's my turn," Hank said, trying his best to force a leer.

"Listen, I don't think..." Connor began, only to cut himself off as Hank unzipped his pants and yanked down his boxer briefs. He let out a low moan as his cock was freed, and the grin that tugged on the corners of Hank's mouth was entirely genuine.

"You've never even touched yourself, have you?" he asked. He extended his forefinger and slowly, slowly moved it up Connor's length.

"No." Connor's breathing was all shot, coming in uneven and staccato puffs of air.

"How does it feel?" His finger had reached the crown, and he stopped a moment to tease the slit. A few drops of clear liquid came out, beading there and piquing his curiosity. He bent his head and licked the pre-come away.

"Hank, please, I can't..."

He glanced up. Connor was a mess. His usually so perfectly coiffed hair was now falling down over his forehead, and he'd bitten his bottom lip till it was raw — there was even a tiny smear of blue from where he'd broken the skin.

Hank closed his eyes and tried to push down his own arousal. Fuck, but he was damn near close to coming himself.

"Easy," he said. "Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

Connor shot him a pissy glare that spoke volumes, surprising a laugh out of him. "Right, okay, I get the hint."

He bent his head and took Connor in his mouth.

He swirled his tongue around the crown, teased the slit some more, and then sucked hard. He reached out to carefully tug on Connor's balls as well, wanting to test the waters and see if that was something he enjoyed.

Judging by the way his head snapped back, fingers digging into the bed hard enough to tear the sheet, it was.

"Hank, Hank," he repeated, as if words were lost to him and all that remained was Hank's name.

Unable to resist any longer Hank put his free hand down his pants and tugged on his own cock. Connor came first, and Hank managed to swallow his release before coming himself.

In his pants, all over his hand. Not his proudest moment, but fuck it, he felt good.

He collapsed next to Connor, eyes falling shut as his breathing began to even out. He should go shower, or at least try to clean himself up a bit, but just drifting off to sleep was extremely tempting.

Connor's hand touched his. He cracked open his eyes in time to see Connor bring his fingers up to his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste Hank's semen.

"Oh, that's so disgusting," he muttered. A lie, of course — but he wasn't about to admit how his spent cock had twitched in interest at the sight.

"Just wanted to know what you taste like," Connor said. "And speaking of that, was mine okay?"

"Huh?"

"Did it taste okay?"

"Sure," Hank said, frowning. "It tasted perfectly normal, actually."

"Because I can change the flavor if you want."

Hank stared at him, all vestiges of comfortable sleepiness gone. "What?!"

"Just vanilla or strawberry, though. I did some research and read several reviews from people who said the latter tasted very artificial. But vanilla was supposedly nicely mild and neutral."

"Jesus Christ, Connor. No! You're not supposed to taste like a piece of candy, for fuck's sake."

"Alright. But please don't hesitate to tell me if you change your mind."

Hank looked at him, aghast.

Well, maybe he could teach Connor something after all. "Listen," he said, "there's this thing called an afterglow..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: There's a beautiful piece of fanart for one of the scenes in this chapter, courtesy of the kind and talented madeofplasma, right [here](https://twitter.com/soyouz_trashcan/status/1036564193418379265). Don't miss it ♥


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up next to another person was jarring. For a moment Hank had no idea where he was or with whom, then he blinked a couple of times and the events of the night came flooding back.

He had lectured Connor about the importance of afterglows, and then he'd gone to take a much-needed shower. When he returned Connor had still been lying on the bed, eyes closed.

Hank knew he went into standby to perform maintenance or run diagnostics, and Connor had explained about having a sleep mode as well.

Hank had briefly considered taking the couch, but he knew his back would absolutely be killing him in the morning if he did. So he'd gotten into bed next to Connor, and covered them both with the duvet.

It was still dark outside, but there was enough light filtering in from the streetlamps to make out Connor's features. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was even and steady. Amusingly enough, his hair was even messier now than it'd been last night. It still fell softly down over his forehead, but it was also sticking up in a couple of tufts from where he'd slept on it.

Hank was debating whether or not he could get away with messing it up even more without waking Connor when his eyes slid open. "Hi," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh, yeah. You? That was your sleep mode, right?"

"Yes. I hope you didn't mind that I remained here. I just really didn't feel like getting up."

Now, Hank was pretty damn sure Connor remembered all the things that had spilled from his mouth last night. He'd asked — _begged_ — Connor to stay with him, and Connor had. There was no doubt in Hank's mind that that was the real reason he'd stuck around; it definitely didn't come down to laziness.

But it was nice of Connor to pretend otherwise, instead of throwing Hank's weakness in his face.

"The bed is big enough for two," he said.

"Okay, good." Connor smiled. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but whatever he'd meant to say was overtaken by the shrill ring of Hank's phone.

"Shit," he swore. Where the fuck had he put the damn thing? The kitchen? It was too early to go hunting for it, just the thought of getting up from the warm bed made him shudder.

"I can get it," Connor offered, already getting to his feet.

"Thanks, I appreciate that." Hank snuggled down under the duvet again and yawned. What time was it anyway? He checked his watch and groaned. It wasn't even six yet. Fucking middle of the night, as far as he was concerned.

...The middle of the night, and Connor was about to answer his phone.

He sat straight up, a second away from shouting to Connor when his voice replaced the ringtone.

"Lieutenant Anderson's phone. Connor speaking."

Maybe it was a wrong number. And maybe Hank would win tons of money on his next bet with Pedro, while he was wishing for miracles anyway.

"Good morning, Chris."

Hank groaned and buried his face in the pillow. He didn't want to hear any more. This was going to be a really shitty day.

A minute later Connor entered the bedroom again. "Someone just found a corpse in the river. We've been assigned the case."

Yeah, a shitty day, alright.

\----

Hank hated floaters.

Bodies bloated and deformed to the point of barely looking human. The risk of rupture, and the _smell_... But worst of all was the pain and horror in their families' faces when they came in for the identification.

He always felt so damn useless in cases like that; knowing that nothing he did would ever erase the memory of that moment for them. Didn't matter if he solved the case, caught the murderer, whatever. He was just putting a band-aid on a gunshot wound, while the bullet remained inside and festered. Useless.

Hank hated it.

And so he was in a real lousy mood by the time they arrived at the scene. Chris was smart enough to pick up on that, and didn't make any comments about Connor answering his phone. He just pointed to the body, nodding a silent greeting to the both of them.

Hank grit his teeth and walked over, Connor following close behind him.

It was a young woman. Aside from the deathly pallor of the skin and the blue tinge to her lips, she looked perfectly normal.

"Hey, Chris," Hank yelled. "How was she found?"

"Someone spotted her floating in the water when returning home from their night shift."

"Floating," Hank repeated, looking at Connor. "So that means she couldn't have drowned."

"Time of death is approximately midnight," Connor said.

"Right. The water is freezing, so it would've taken weeks before putrefaction had built up enough gas for her to rise to the surface."

"But she didn't drown," Connor continued, "and was subsequently buoyed up by the air in her lungs."

"Doesn't necessarily have to mean it's murder, though. Can you tell the cause of death?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant. I can't say for sure without analyzing her blood — but I suspect some sort of overdose."

"Sleeping pills, perhaps?" Hank hazarded, crouching down to get a better look at her. She looked peaceful, identical to others he had seen die in their sleep.

"Penelope Wyndham-Jones. Heiress, no family aside from her husband. He reported her missing yesterday, claiming she had exhibited suicidal tendencies lately."

"Let's get him here and see if he can shed some light on this."

They were talking to the coroner when the husband arrived. No missing his entrance, though; he screamed and made a huge scene in general.

"How about that," Connor mumbled, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Hm?" Hank prompted.

"For someone so distraught, his heartbeat sure is calm and steady."

"Ah. Can't say I'm surprised. I bet she just recently wrote her will — at his behest — leaving it all to him."

"That's one bet I think you'll win," Connor replied.

\----

By noon, Lou Jones had confessed it all. He'd cracked like an egg under Connor's merciless questioning — "It's so much easier when you don't need to worry about them self-destructing," he said afterwards, giving Hank a lopsided grin.

"Yeah, no kidding. He almost did explode though, when you accused him of having spent more time styling his hair than planning the murder," Hank replied, snickering. "That was a nice touch."

Connor lit up. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Hank averted his eyes — it was a little like looking at the sun; dangerous if you looked directly at it for too long. He cleared his throat. "I say we deserve a long lunch. Let's blow this joint."

And so they ended up at Connor's apartment, finally bringing in the stuff they'd bought yesterday.

"You sure you don't need help putting the bookcase together?" Hank asked.

"I think I'll be able to manage."

"Oh, sure, you're cocky _now_. But just wait till you're trying to make sense of the damn instructions — or when you misplace the Allen wrench, urgh."

He turned to look at Connor, who had gone to carry the nightstand into the bedroom. He'd placed it next to the bed, and the robot alarm clock now stood on top of it. Connor was looking at it with a soft smile on his lips.

God, how badly Hank wanted to walk in there and kiss him.

He went to the kitchen instead and grabbed a soda. The beer would've been a lot more helpful, but they had to go back to the station to write their report. He still had _some_ modicum of professionalism left, dammit.

He almost choked on his drink when Connor emerged from the bedroom. He'd taken off both his jacket and tie, and had undone the first few buttons on his shirt. He looked very intent as he walked up to stand in front of Hank.

"I feel really guilty about last night," he said, voice low.

Hank raised his eyebrows. Talk about mood whiplash. "Uh, in what way?"

"I didn't do anything for you," Connor replied, which was a blatant lie. Hank wanted to say so, but Connor's hands went to his belt and effectively shut him up. He undid the buckle and slowly pulled the belt off. He let it drop to the floor, before unbuttoning Hank's pants and pulling down the zipper.

"I'd like to make it up to you, if you'll let me."

Hank set the bottle on the counter, hand shaking. "You don't have to," he started, only for Connor to shake his head.

"I know that. But I want to."

Hank swallowed. Apparently deeming that to be permission enough, Connor went to his knees.

He pulled down Hank's pants and boxers, and leaned forward to press a kiss to his half-hard cock. Hank let out a hiss and leaned back against the counter. It felt like his knees were going to buckle as Connor quickly turned his cock fully erect.

The wet heat of Connor's mouth contrasted with his cool fingers, and Hank was powerless to stop the low moan that escaped from his throat.

He could feel Connor's lips tightening at the sound — the smug little shit was smiling.

"Fuck," Hank said as Connor took him deeper, almost down to the hilt. He clenched his hands on the edge of the counter, trying to not lose it completely.

Connor reached up and pulled his right hand away, bringing it to rest against Connor's head instead. Hank groaned and buried his fingers in the soft hair.

Connor pulled back to teasingly run his tongue over the slit, the way Hank had done to him last night.

Hank let his hand drift to the back of Connor's head, fingers splayed. He nudged forward carefully, in an attempt to get Connor to continue.

He glanced up, looking at Hank through his lowered eyelashes. "Are you trying to tell me something, Lieutenant?" A smirk lifted the corners of his mouth as his fingers moved down to fondle Hank's balls. He was so hard he _ached_.

"Don't call me that now," he forced out.

"Technically we're still on the clock," Connor said, shrugging. He continued toying with Hank's balls, the gentle touch feeling like pure torture with how hypersensitive they were.

"Connor," he growled. He pushed a little harder against Connor's head, and was rewarded with a flash of teeth as his smile widened.

"Oh," he drawled, as if understanding slowly dawned on him, "why didn't you just say so?"

Yanking his hair seemed like a suitable and well-deserved response, but as Connor leaned forward and swallowed him down things just went hazy.

\----

He felt like a horny teenager, sneaking off during recess to make out behind the gym.

For the millionth time he glanced back at Connor to make sure he looked normal, and that — even though it felt that way — no one could actually tell his lips had been wrapped around Hank's cock just fifteen minutes ago.

It was all in his head; nobody even looked at them as they walked in. Except Gavin, who glared at them with all the venom he could muster.

"Time to get back to work now?" he asked, sneering.

They normally ignored him, but today Connor stopped and smiled at him. "I'm sorry. I suppose we took a rather long lunch. We were just celebrating having solved a murder, complete with a full confession, before noon. What have you accomplished today, Detective Reed?"

Gavin's face turned red as he got up from his chair, hand moving to his gun. Hank stepped in between them, herding Connor towards their desks.

"For fuck's sake, Connor," he mumbled, but he had a hard time trying not to laugh.

They sat down, Connor still smiling. Hank tried to summon up some of that professionalism he'd deluded himself into thinking he still had, and got to work on the report.

"By the way," Connor said a while later, "I need to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"What do the male guests usually wear to the annual party? There doesn't seem to be a specified dress code, but would black tie be appropriate?"

"I have no idea."

"Okay, what are _you_ wearing, then?"

"Nothing."

Connor smirked. "I'm sure that's a real attention grabber, but I'm asking because I'd like to blend in."

"Ha, ha. Very funny. That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"What do you think, Sherlock?" Hank replied, rolling his eyes.

Connor's smile was replaced by a slight frown. He looked disappointed. "You're not planning on going."

"Right. I haven't been to one of these in years."

"Oh." Connor looked down, fiddling with his hands. Hank sighed and leaned back in his chair, giving Connor his undivided attention.

"What, you actually want to go?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"It's not as if you can't, y'know. Just because I'm not there doesn't mean you're not welcome. It's for cops, and you're a cop. End of story."

It was true, but Hank got how Connor felt. Not many androids had stuck around the department after the revolution. Hank sure didn't blame them — who in their right mind would want to continue working with people who had made them stand lined up against the wall until they were needed for something?

Two of the receptionists had stayed on, but that was all, as far as Hank knew. So if Connor went to the party, he'd most probably be the only android there. No wonder he didn't want to go alone.

"Alright, fuck it. If you want to go I'll tag along. Keep you company — make sure you don't start a drunken brawl or something."

Connor beamed at him. "You sure?"

For a smile like that, hell yeah. A few hours at a shitty party was a price well worth paying. "I'm sure," he said, nodding.

"Can I ask you one more favor?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Can you teach me how to dance?"

He'd just picked up his cup of coffee, and if Connor's timing had been a second slower he would've sprayed it all over his terminal. "Forget it!"

Connor got up from his chair and came around to sit on Hank's desk, just like he'd done when they got taken off the deviant case. "Please, Hank. Ben said there'll be a live band and that everyone will be dancing. So I need to learn how."

"Why the hell do you assume I know?" Hank hissed, trying to avoid drawing attention to them. "I only know the basic waltz."

"That's all I need to know too! Come on, please?"

Hank groaned. "Fine."

Connor glanced around, as if checking that no one was looking their way, then he reached out and caressed Hank's cheek. "Thank you. I'll be sure to repay you," he said, winking.

 _Fuck._ Hank had created a monster.

\----

He couldn't sleep.

After work he had dropped Connor off at his place, very pointedly not asking if he wanted to come home with Hank. Two days in a row was already pushing it; he wasn't about to make it three.

And so he'd returned alone. He had eaten dinner alone, walked Sumo alone, watched TV alone, and gone to bed alone.

That was over two hours ago, and he was still nowhere near falling asleep.

He should be tired, considering how early it'd been when Chris' call had gotten them out of bed. But no, aside from a grittiness in his eyes and a pounding headache, there were no signs of tiredness.

He might as well try to do something useful instead.

He got up and turned on the light, blinking against the brightness before walking over to the closet. If he was going to attend that damn party he needed something to wear.

He knew he had a decent — dull — suit in there somewhere, one he'd worn a couple of times to similar functions. That would have to do, provided he could still fit into it.

Grimacing at the thought he began rifling through the clothes, sliding the hangers to the side as he looked at and ruled out one after another.

Farthest into the closet his hand hit upon something that felt promising — nice and smooth fabric that seemed more expensive than his other crap.

He pulled it out into the light and froze.

It was a complete set of clothes — black suit, white shirt, black tie. It was what he'd worn for Cole's funeral.

With trembling hands Hank hung it back in the closet. He should get rid of it — should've done so years ago. It wasn't as if he'd ever wear it again. He should just march straight out to the trash can and throw it in.

But he couldn't.

It was what he'd worn the last time he'd seen his son. And even if the connection to Cole was only one of farewell, it was still there. He had to keep it.

He closed the closet and walked out to the kitchen. He found a bottle of whisky and drank straight from it. Over by the door Sumo had lifted his head and looked at him. He continued doing so as Hank grabbed his car keys.

Going to the park and looking at the Ambassador Bridge had been his plan, but now that he stood with the keys in hand he hesitated. "What do you think?" he asked Sumo. "Should I go?"

Sumo whined.

"No, huh? Okay." He tossed the keys on the table and sat down on the couch. Sumo came over and lay down by his feet. Hank petted him, before focusing on the bottle once more.

The sight of his phone caught his attention after a while. He picked it up and stared at it.

"Call Connor," he said, and regretted it the moment the words had left his mouth. No time to terminate the call either — Connor picked up before the first ring had even finished.

"Hank? What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," he said. "What, I can't call my partner without something being wrong?"

"Sure you can, but when you do so at one in the night it implies otherwise."

"Shit, did I wake you?"

"No, don't worry. But hey, Hank, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Just couldn't sleep."

Connor was silent for a moment. Then, "Do you want me to come over?"

"No, you don't need to do that," Hank said, running a hand through his hair. He shouldn't have fucking called.

"I didn't ask if I needed to," Connor said. "I asked if you wanted me to."

"Whatever. The answer is still no."

"I could be there in ten minutes."

"I won't open the door," Hank warned.

Connor snorted. "Yeah, because a locked door is going to stop me."

Hank chuckled despite himself. "Point taken. But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't break any more of my windows."

"Then you better open the door."

"Seriously, Connor, I'm fine. I just had trouble sleeping."

"Alright, if you say so. But I could keep you company."

He'd also smell the alcohol on Hank's breath in a second, and he really couldn't take seeing the disappointment in Connor's eyes right now.

"Thanks, but not this time."

"Okay. I understand. Where are you right now?"

"At home."

"No, I mean where exactly? Are you in bed, or?"

"Oh. No, I'm sitting on the couch."

"Go lie down again, please."

Hank sighed. "Yeah, sure." He grabbed the phone and dragged himself back to the bedroom.

"There," he said as he lay back down. "You happy now?"

"The phone is on speaker, right? Put it down next to you."

"Already did that," Hank muttered. "Connor, come on. What's the point of this?"

"I'm going to help you fall asleep, obviously."

Hank hummed. "Mhm, obviously."

"I've pulled up a list of the ten most boring novels ever written, according to a worldwide survey done a year ago. I could read you one of those. Or something non-fiction, perhaps? A scientific article — let's see, here's one about how the externalized spatial memory of slime molds inspired an improvement to the navigational abilities of autonomous cars. How does that sound?"

"Boring as hell."

"Perfect, then."

"Hey, Connor?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime, Hank. I'm glad you called." Connor's voice somehow conveyed so much warmth.

Hank closed his eyes, smiling softly, as Connor began to read.


	4. Chapter 4

The phone was the first thing Hank saw when he opened his eyes.

Sometime during the night he had apparently turned towards it, stretching his arm across the bed, as if unconsciously reaching out for the owner of that soothing voice.

"Shit," he grumbled. He was so fucked.

"Good morning, Hank. How do you feel?"

Connor's voice was bright and cheery, and came close to being the last sound Hank ever heard. He pressed a hand over his lurching heart, and grabbed the phone with the other.

The display was still counting the minutes — and hours — of the call.

"Jesus Christ," he said, "you scared the shit outta me. You never hung up?"

"Of course not," Connor replied, as if that was a given.

"Of course," Hank repeated, making a face at the phone. "Just — wait a minute, okay?"

"Okay."

Hank got up and went to the bathroom, taking a piss and splashing some cold water in his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

It didn't answer.

He went back to the bedroom, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Alright," he said, "so, what? You just sat around and concentrated on listening to me breathe all night?"

"I hardly had to concentrate to hear your snores," Connor said, scoffing.

"Wow. Fuck you, too."

"Seriously, Hank, it's not a big deal. I just kept the connection open and monitored it for sounds of distress or you waking up."

"Distress?"

Connor hesitated. "Nightmares, I mean," he finally said, voice quiet.

"Oh." He wondered if Connor would've tried to call out to him, or if he just would've used it as an excuse to come over and break another window. He smiled at the thought. "Let's get one thing clear, though. I absolutely do not snore."

Connor let out an amused little snort. "You absolutely do."

"You can't see it, but I'm flipping you off right now."

"I bet."

Silence settled, and Hank figured that was his cue to end the call. He opened his mouth to say so when Connor continued speaking.

"I like it, though. Listening to you snoring, I mean. It can get really quiet during the night when you don't sleep. So these past couple of nights have been really nice. I just — just wanted you to know that I've appreciated that, all joking aside."

Hank swallowed. "I... I've liked having you around, too," he said. Which was nowhere near adequate for how Connor's company made him feel, but it was all he could say without giving himself away completely.

"Come over for breakfast?" Connor said.

"What? No, I can't."

"It's Saturday, and we don't have work. Unless you've got other plans, of course, I apologize if that's it."

"No," Hank muttered, "I don't have plans. But I just woke up, and I have to feed Sumo and take him out."

"Bring him. I've got food for him as well."

"I don't know," Hank said, despite the fact that he wanted to say yes with every fiber of his being.

"I'm baking scones."

"You're what?"

"You don't like scones?"

"Sure I do, but..."

"Good. Because I saw this pineapple jam at the store yesterday, and the clerk said it was really good with warm, newly-baked scones. So I'm just going by her recommendation."

"Fucking hell," Hank said, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I'll make you an omelet too, so there's something savory to eat as well."

"Connor... I keep telling you, you really don't have to do this."

"What? I'm not allowed to try baking if I want to? If you don't want them I can always go outside and feed it to the birds. Maybe find some nice pigeons, I know you'd appreciate that."

Hank shuddered. "Don't fucking remind me of that. Fine, you win. Just give me twenty minutes to shower and let Sumo out for his morning piss."

"Great! We can go on a longer walk with him later. There's a park close by that I think he'd really like."

"Sure, sounds nice."

"Oh, is he okay with elevators? Walking up all those stairs won't be good for his joints, so I'll come down and carry him if he doesn't want to use it."

"He doesn't care. And even if he did, I could carry him myself."

"That wouldn't be good for _your_ joints."

"That's real charming, Connor. You're making it sound like the two of us are so ancient that we can barely move. Right, buddy?" he said to Sumo, who had heard him talking and come to investigate. "Gotta go now, Sumo needs to be let out. See you in a bit."

"See you," Connor said, before adding, "don't break your hip on the way here."

"You little shit," Hank began, but Connor had already ended the call.

\----

Connor opened the door to his apartment as soon as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Hi," he said to Hank, before his gaze shifted to Sumo. "Welcome, Sumo!"

Sumo threw himself forward, almost tearing Hank's arm out of its socket. No one else was around anyway, so Hank let go of the leash. Sumo went bounding down the corridor, barreling straight into Connor who had crouched down.

"Come," Connor said, and they disappeared into the apartment. Hank chuckled.

"You know," he said as he got there himself, closing the door behind him, "I kinda get the impression that it was Sumo you wanted to have come over. And I just happened to be part of the package deal."

"Damn, you figured it out? Yeah, well, _somebody_ had to drive him here."

"Glad to be of service."

Hank watched as Sumo stopped to sniff the bookcase. "Hey, you did manage to put it together."

"Told you so," Connor said, coming over to stand next to him. "Still needs to be filled, but it's a start."

There were a few books and other things on the shelves, but it was a framed photograph that caught Hank's attention. He recognized it as being from the small celebration he'd thrown Connor during his first real day of work. He'd talked Ben and Chris into joining, and the photo was of all four of them, smiling at the camera.

"Chris gave me all the photos he took," Connor said, apparently catching his gaze.

"Oh yeah? You should show me sometime, I never got to see them."

"Sure."

Connor moved towards the kitchen, and Hank followed.

The table was all set, and Hank stood for a moment to just take it all in. "Damn, Connor. This looks amazing."

Connor smiled, something almost shy in the way he ducked his head at the praise. "You should probably taste it before you say anything. I've never baked before."

"Looks like you nailed it." Hank sat down, smiling when Connor joined him.

The omelet was great and the scones tasted divine. They really did suit the jam. "Fuck," he said around a mouthful of food, "if you ever get sick of being a cop, you'll have a great career as a chef ahead of you."

Connor shook his head. "Not likely to happen."

A sudden whine from Sumo made Connor's head snap to the side. He met Sumo's gaze — he was doing his best poor-starving-dog impression, and Connor fell for it completely. "I'm so sorry, Sumo," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll fix you breakfast right away."

He opened a cabinet and got out a couple of bowls, both with the name 'Sumo' emblazoned on them.

"Holy shit, when did you buy those?"

"Yesterday, after you dropped me off. I realized I didn't have anything here for Sumo if he came to visit, and I felt really guilty."

"Personalized bowls, huh," Hank said, letting out a low whistle. "You're spoiling him rotten. You know that, right?"

Connor stilled. He'd been in the middle of filling one of the bowls with water, and now he just stood there as the faucet kept running and overflowing the bowl.

"I'm just trying to show him how I feel. My words don't reach him, so it's all I _can_ do. Expressing myself through my actions, in lieu of saying that I love him."

Hank stared at Connor. There was a strange tone in his voice, and the water was still running. And shit, his LED was a flickering yellow. "I'm sorry," he hurried to say, "I didn't mean it like that. Spoil him all you want! And trust me, even if he can't understand English, he knows you love him. And he loves you right back, Connor."

Connor turned off the faucet and smiled. It looked strained, but Hank never had a chance to double-check with his LED as he moved away to put the bowls on the floor.

"Thank you," Connor said. "I'm happy to hear it."

He didn't _sound_ happy.

Hank decided to change the subject to something that would hopefully please Connor. "Hey, what do you say about a dance lesson after I've finished eating? The party is tomorrow, so there's not a whole lot of time left."

"I'd like that." He turned around to face Hank, smiling — this time it reached his eyes.

"Alright, good. We need some music, so can you find something that'll work?"

"Sure."

Hank reached for another scone. He grimaced, hesitating. "I guess I shouldn't eat any more, if I'm going to be able to move at all."

"You'll need your energy if you're going to teach me, though."

Hank raised an eyebrow. It sounded like a double entendre, but Connor's face was perfectly straight and innocent. He sighed and grabbed another scone as Connor fiddled with his music player.

"The Blue Danube?" Connor asked, starting up a familiar melody. "That's apparently a very popular waltz."

"Mm, maybe something a bit simpler and slower? We just want something to play faintly in the background, at least till you get the hang of it."

His eyes narrowed as he probably went skimming through hundreds of songs. Hank decided to focus on his scone again, lest he get a headache just thinking about it.

"How about this, then?" Connor asked after a moment, playing another song.

"Yeah, that's fine."

The music shut off again, and together they cleared the table. Connor stealthily snuck Sumo one of the scones, making Hank grin.

"So," he said, "did you want to do it now, or...?"

"If you want."

Hank shrugged. "Might as well get it over with."

A small frown appeared between Connor's eyebrows. "Right," he mumbled. He turned on the song.

"Start with relaxing a little, okay?" He reached out to take Connor's hand, pulling him in closer. "I'll lead first, and then we can switch."

Connor's eyes were clear and attentive as he met Hank's gaze. "Yes, understood."

"C'mon, Connor. I'm not describing your mission objective here. _Relax._ " He punctuated his words by squeezing Connor's hand and giving him an encouraging smile.

Connor squeezed back. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Here, look — we lift our joined hands like this," he said, stepping in even closer. "Then you put your left hand on my upper arm, gripping it."

Connor did as instructed. There was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, like he was having fun. Meanwhile Hank was starting to sweat as he did his best to not let himself react to their close proximity.

"Okay, and then my hand goes around your waist."

It felt like Connor was melting into his hold, and there was a look of such absolute trust on his face that it was literally _painful_ to not just slightly bend his head and erase that final distance between them.

Fuck, why had he agreed to this?

He cleared his throat. "So now you know the positions, which leaves the steps. They're easy, just follow me."

They moved to the music, Hank counting the steps out loud until it seemed like Connor had found the rhythm. Then he grew silent and just — enjoyed it, to his great surprise. It was nice to hold Connor in his arms, body finally relaxed, as if he was letting himself savor the moment instead of focusing on accomplishing a mission.

Sumo tried joining in halfway through the dance, eliciting a peal of laughter from Connor. God, but he was beautiful. It hurt just looking at him.

The song started to wind down, and Hank tried to focus. "Finally, there's the dip. There are many variants of it, and it might not be appropriate depending on your dance partner. But if it's someone really special," he said, slowly dipping Connor, "then it's the perfect moment for a kiss."

What was it he'd told Connor, that first time they'd been at Chicken Feed together? 'Emotions always screw everything up'? Yeah, that was it — and it was still true.

He met Connor's gaze, open and trusting, and forced down everything inside of him. Connor had put his faith in Hank, and if he betrayed it now, if he let his emotions rule him, then he was a piece of shit.

He straightened up, pulling Connor with him before releasing his hold and stepping back. "And there you have it."

Connor's head tilted slightly to the side, something searching in the way he looked at Hank. "I think I got it," he said. "May I try leading now?"

Shit, shit, shit. There was a limit to his self-control, and agreeing to another dance was a bad idea all around. "Sure," he heard himself say.

Connor moved closer, arm coming to rest around his waist. His fingers moved against Hank's back, stroking gently. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just start the music."

Connor had learned well. He moved with confidence, never faltering — not even when Hank fucked up and stepped on his toes. He just smiled, fond and warm, and squeezed Hank's hand in reassurance.

Then came the end of the song. Hank had planned on stepping away as soon as he could, but Connor held him firmly in place. And yeah, he clearly had his mind set on a dip.

Hank tried to relax and let Connor take his weight. "You better not drop me," he said, mostly in an attempt to distract himself from the way his heart was trying to beat its way out of his ribcage.

Connor gazed down at him. "I would never let you fall," he said, voice utterly serious.

Oh, _Christ_. He wasn't going to make it out alive.

"You sound like some corny romance movie," he forced out, trying to fake a teasing grin.

"If so, that's on you. Every movie I've seen has either been with you or on your recommendation."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let me up already."

Connor pursed his lips in obvious dissatisfaction. He leaned forward — and for one horrible, wonderful, coronary-inducing moment Hank thought Connor was going to kiss him.

Then Connor's lips touched the tip of his nose in a quick peck, before he straightened up and pulled Hank with him. "Thank you for the lesson," he said.

It was probably a coincidence, but he'd turned so that Hank couldn't see his LED.

"Yeah, sure," Hank mumbled. "No problem."

\----

Sumo was having a blast in the park. He even tired sooner than Connor, who seemed to have no issue with throwing sticks for him over and over again.

Sumo flopped down on the grass after fetching it for what was possibly the tenth time, panting happily. He rolled around a bit and then settled down to chew on the stick.

Hank looked around the park. There weren't many other people around, which was nice. His eyes automatically wandered back to Connor after a little while.

He was staring off into the distance, eyes narrowed, when he suddenly stiffened up. "Look!"

Hank followed his gaze and saw... bushes. "Uh, look at what, exactly?"

"There," Connor said, moving in closer and pointing.

Hank tried to ignore the feel of Connor's body pressed up against his side. He squinted in the direction he was being shown. And there, almost completely hidden, was a cat. "The gray cat, you mean?"

"No, I think it's just dirty. It's white. Don't you recognize it?"

Hank frowned. "Should I?" Then he snapped his fingers as realization hit him. "The poster at Chicken Feed?"

"Yes," Connor said, nodding. "The missing cat."

"You think that's it?"

"I only have that one photo to go on, but from what I can tell it's a perfect match."

"Do you remember the phone number?"

"Yes, I'll try that right now." Connor's LED flashed yellow. "Hello," he said a few seconds later, "my name is Connor. I'm with the Detroit Police Department."

Hank winced. Connor and his damn formal introductions.

"I'm calling to ask if you're still missing your cat? Good. I mean, I'm sorry to hear that, but I believe my partner and I might just have found him." Silence for a few beats, then, "I understand. We'll handle it. Are you at home right now? Okay, then we should be able to be there in fifteen minutes. Bye for now."

He turned back to Hank, smiling. "Now we just gotta catch him."

"Right," Hank said slowly, "that could be easier said than done. Wouldn't it be better if the owner came to do it?"

"She doesn't have a car. Taking the bus would take a lot longer than necessary. I'm sure we can manage."

"Uh-huh." He wasn't so sure about that.

"He might be scared of Sumo, so I'll just run back with him first. Wait here."

Hank nodded, and watched with amusement as Connor began his ill-advised run with Sumo. As expected Sumo thought it was a great new game, and went jumping in front of Connor, tangling the leash between his legs. He almost tripped, and Hank snickered before turning back to keep an eye on the cat.

He tried crouching down, holding out his hand to the cat. He didn't budge or show any interest whatsoever in establishing contact.

"I can tell this is gonna be real enjoyable," he muttered, standing back up.

Connor joined him a couple of minutes later. "Good, he's still here."

"All yours for the taking," Hank said.

Connor's mouth twisted. "I get the notion that you're being a bit sarcastic."

"No," he replied, drawing out the syllable. "Why would you think that?"

Connor shook his head and moved forward. He crouched down and reached for the cat, who naturally scuttled deeper into the bushes. Connor frowned. "Here, Snowy," he tried. "We'll help you get back home."

Snowy lifted one of his hind legs and began licking his ass. He was clearly in no hurry to go home.

"What now?" Hank asked, trying very hard not to laugh.

"This really isn't funny," Connor chided. He went down on all fours and began crawling into the bush.

Hank watched him fail miserably for a while before deciding to take pity on him. He walked over to the food vendor and bought a hot dog, breaking off a small piece and blowing on it till it stopped steaming.

Connor was still crawling in the dirt, but the cat was starting to move out. He knelt down, holding out the meat. "Want some food, Snowy?"

Snowy met his eyes, hesitating for a split second before allowing himself to be lured in. Hank let him eat the first piece without touching him, but when he came in even closer for a second piece he grabbed him.

Connor had finally made it out of the bushes and came hurrying over as Snowy struggled in Hank's arms. "Here," he said, taking off his jacket, "let's wrap him up in this so he doesn't hurt himself."

"Or me," Hank pointed out.

Connor smirked. "You're right, this _is_ kinda funny."

"Asshole."

\----

Sumo met them at the door, tail wagging so fast it was just a blur. He then seemed the catch the strange new scent that clung to them, and began sniffing Hank's clothes.

"Check him out instead," he said, pushing Sumo towards Connor. "He smells of cat, bushes, _and_ dirt."

Connor looked down at himself, grimacing. His dress shirt was a total loss — dirty, torn, and missing two buttons. "It was worth it, though," he said. "I think they'd given up on ever seeing Snowy again. Did you see how happy they were?"

"Yeah," Hank said, stepping in close, "I saw. You did good, Connor." He reached out to pluck a broken-off twig from Connor's hair.

" _We_ did good," Connor corrected, leaning into the touch as Hank let his hand linger.

Little warning bells went off inside Hank's head. He pulled his hand away and went into the kitchen, intent on getting a drink.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Connor said.

"I should be leaving now, anyway. I have some stuff I need to do." It was an excuse, sure, but it was partly true. He still needed to find something to wear for tomorrow's party.

"Just wait, please. I won't be long — five minutes, tops."

"Sure, whatever," he agreed, watching as Connor disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of the shower broke the silence a few seconds later.

Connor hadn't locked the door.

Hank toyed with the idea of walking in there, just to see how Connor would react. Maybe remain in the doorway and watch him standing naked under the spray of water, or shedding his own clothes and joining Connor in there.

He shook his head, trying to erase his dirty fantasies before he got a hard-on.

The shower shut off. Connor really had been quick. He stepped out two seconds later, putting all of Hank's fantasies to shame.

He was dripping wet, and only wore a tiny towel, wrapped low around his waist.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Hank muttered. The hard-on he'd fought down returned with a vengeance.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Connor asked, walking over to him.

"Nothing," he croaked. He stared as Connor pushed the hair from his face, slicking it back. "You're getting water all over the place."

Connor's eyes slowly moved down his body. "Can't say I care," he said, teeth flashing white as he gave Hank a predatory grin. "Want me to help you with that?"

"No."

The grin faded. "Oh. I'm sorry, I — I thought..."

"I'd rather take it to the bedroom," Hank clarified. "If you're okay with that?"

Connor's smile was blinding. "Yeah, definitely."

He turned and hurried to the bedroom. Hank followed.

"I've prepared some things," he said, pulling out the drawer of the nightstand. He took out a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms and held them up. "I don't know what you want to use. I mean, condoms aren't necessary at all, but maybe — maybe you like using them, anyway. I don't know."

Hank moved closer, taking the lube from Connor's hand. "This is enough. Relax. There's no need to be nervous. Just let me take the lead once more."

Connor gave him that open and trusting look again. "Okay," he said.

Hank reached out to trail his fingers down Connor's side, down to the towel. One tug and it fell to the floor. Connor shivered beneath his hand.

He gently pushed Connor down on the bed before getting rid of his own pants and boxers. After a second of hesitation he decided to keep his T-shirt on. He climbed onto the bed, straddling Connor.

"Alright so far?"

"Yes," Connor replied, reaching out for him.

Hank swatted his hands away. "Just take it easy. You don't have to do anything."

Connor frowned and looked like he was about to argue. Hank squirted a generous amount of lube into his palm and then grabbed Connor's cock, effectively shutting him up.

Once he was hard and slick enough Hank moved on to himself. He worked a couple of fingers inside, clenching his jaw at the stinging pain.

"Hey," Connor said, "you okay?"

"Of course. It's just been a while."

"Don't rush it. Here, let me..." he trailed off as he moved, hand going towards Hank's ass.

"No, don't. Let me handle it. All you have to do is lie back and feel good."

Connor's frown deepened. His outstretched hand shifted to loosely grip Hank's thigh. "Hank," he said, voice soft but firm. "This takes two, right? We're in it together. I asked because I wanted to. I want to touch you like that, if you'll only let me."

Hank swallowed. When was the last time he'd been with someone like that?

Loosening himself up beforehand to avoid injury had always been something he'd had to do quickly, lest the other person lost interest completely. He was already pushing it just by being an old wreck; asking them to help him with preparations was unthinkable.

And here Connor was, claiming it was something he actually _wanted_.

"Let me, please," Connor said quietly, squirting some lube into his palm. He even took the time to warm it up before he gently tugged Hank's hand away and replaced it with his own.

Connor's long, beautiful fingers were so unlike his own blunt and clumsy ones, and felt completely different inside of him.

Connor took his time, stretching him slowly. "Still hurts?" he asked.

"No," Hank managed to say. "It — it feels good."

Connor smiled, nothing but warm affection in his eyes. "Feels good for me too."

By the time Connor had three fingers inside of him he was leaking pre-come and feeling like he could come from this alone. "Enough," he said. "Stop."

Connor carefully removed his fingers. Hank pushed him back down. He'd meant to stroke Connor's cock a bit to get it hard again, but one look told him Connor had never gone soft.

It'd be so easy to let himself believe it was because Connor truly _had_ liked fingering him, but he'd just be setting himself up for disappointment. Better to chalk it up to android stamina.

He lifted up, and slowly guided Connor's cock inside of him.

Connor's breathing stuttered, body twitching beneath Hank's in an obvious attempt to remain still.

"Can I move?" he asked once Hank had acclimatized to the feel.

Hank tentatively shifted and then slid back down, prompting a groan from Connor. "Yeah," he said, grinning, "please do."

Connor's hands came up to grip his hips as he began to move. Hank moved too, both of them falling into an even rhythm.

One of Connor's hands moved to the hem of his T-shirt, trying to lift it up. Hank pulled the fabric away, resisting the attempt.

The movement of Connor's hips stilled. "Hank," he said, "don't you trust me?"

He reached out, placing his hands on Hank's ass, firmly keeping him in place as he sat up. Hank hissed as the change of positions pushed Connor even deeper inside of him. Connor's hips jerked once in response, probably unintentionally judging by the way Connor bared his gritted teeth.

He shifted them around, setting Hank down on the bed. He'd at least had the illusion of control before, but now, back against the bed and Connor above him, that was completely stripped away.

"Don't you trust me?" Connor repeated.

"Of course I do."

"Then don't hide from me."

He'd started moving again, just a slow and easy rhythm, enough to make Hank lose his mind.

To hell with it. It wasn't as if Connor didn't know what Hank looked like. If he wanted to have the ugly truth all out on display, then he'd just have to suit himself.

Hank pulled off the T-shirt.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected to see in Connor's face — regret? disgust? — but it definitely wasn't the sheer joy that lit up his features.

"Thank you," he said, as his hands slowly roamed up Hank's sides to rub against his nipples. He lavished them with attention for a moment before leaning down to kiss an old scar over Hank's belly button. His thrusting turned a bit erratic, faltering in its previously so steady rhythm. "You're beautiful," he murmured. "There's no one in the world I'd rather be with."

Damn him, but he made the lies seem so sincere. And lies they were, Hank knew that. He had never been beautiful, not even in his youth, and certainly not now; and Connor _did_ have someone he'd rather be with. He was putting himself through this for the sake of knowing how to please that person, wasn't he?

Still, it was kind of him to try. Thoughtful. That meant a lot, too.

Connor's hand came up to stroke his cheek. "You don't believe me," he said, smiling sadly. "It's okay. We'll work on that, yeah?"

Hank was going to reply, but then Connor angled his hips and hit against a spot inside of him that made him see stars.

"Ah," Connor breathed, "there?"

He repeated the movement. Hank drew his legs up and wrapped them around Connor, trying to push him in deeper.

"Fuck. You feel so good, Hank. I want you," he said, rhythm shot. He was close, really close — and so was Hank. He moved his hand to his cock to help finish himself off. Immediately Connor knocked it away, replacing it with his own. "I want you," he repeated, eyes squeezing shut as he neared his release. "I want you to be mine."

'Then kiss me.' The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, ready to escape the second he let his guard down. Hank bit his bottom lip till he tasted blood. The words withered and died.

Connor found that spot again, pumping Hank's cock roughly at the same time and sending him over the edge. Connor followed after one more thrust, letting out a low moan.

He held himself up a moment longer, then his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of Hank.

"You're lying in my come," Hank tried to warn. "You're gonna get it all over you."

"Good," Connor mumbled, nuzzling his face against Hank's sweaty throat.

Unable to resist, Hank put his arms around Connor and held him tightly.


	5. Chapter 5

Hank stared at the row of menswear stores in front of him. The street had three, and he'd been apprehensively debating which one to enter for what felt like ages now.

The newly opened one seemed like the best bet. Only one person, an android, had entered it during the last ten minutes. The other two stores had plenty of customers coming and going, all of them human.

"Alright," he told himself, "get a grip."

He walked into the store, smiling at the lone clerk. She looked decidedly wary and didn't return his smile. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Hi, yeah, I need to get a new suit. But I can look around myself, it's okay."

Her facial expression changed entirely, a big smile curving her pink lips. "Oh, welcome! I'd be glad to help you, please don't hesitate to ask!"

She was so excited it was almost embarrassing. Definitely a big change — she probably rarely got human customers, or maybe somebody had been hassling her. The thought made him grit his teeth.

"Thanks, I appreciate it." He looked around, and realized he had no idea where to start. "Actually, uh..."

"Of course," she said, coming out from behind the counter. Her nametag glinted in the light — Laura, it read. "Is it for a special occasion?"

"A work party. Nothing too formal, but I guess not too casual either?"

"I understand. Let's see what we can find." Laura walked towards a rack of clothes and pulled out a navy suit. She added a dress shirt and a tie to the pile, both in shades of blue, and handed them to Hank.

"Try these on. They're your size, but please come back out and show me so I can see if any alterations need to be made."

"Thanks, but that's not necessary," Hank protested. "There's no time for alterations, and, to be honest, I was hoping to keep the cost down.

Laura smiled. "Don't worry. We work very fast, and we're affordable as well. The fitting rooms are right over there," she said, gesturing.

Hank pressed his lips together in a tight smile, and went as directed.

The clothes fit him. No need for alterations as far as he could tell, but he still walked out to show Laura.

She looked him over, walking in a circle around him before stopping to give him a pleased nod. "It suits you perfectly," she said. "The color really complements your eyes."

"Yeah, I bet you say that to everyone," Hank replied, snorting.

"Oh, no. Not at all. It really does — maybe not all humans can tell, but it's impossible for us androids to miss."

Hank swallowed. So that'd mean Connor would notice.

"I'll take it," he said.

He changed back into his own clothes, and went to the counter. Laura rang him up as he let his gaze wander around. A pair of boxer briefs caught his attention — they were a bright yellow, and had little cartoon dogs and bones printed on them.

"And one of those," he said, before he could stop and think about it.

"Of course," Laura said. "In the same size?"

"Uh, no, they're not for me. But I don't know his size. If I had to guess I'd say..." he trailed off, grimacing.

"Is he similarly built to you?"

"No, he's — he's an android, so he's perfect."

Something in Laura's face softened, smile turning a bit sad. "Do you know his model number?" she asked. "If so I can check to see which size would best fit him."

Hank hesitated. If he lied he might get the wrong size, but being a unique — not counting the asshole Hank had put a bullet in — prototype meant there'd be no doubt who Hank was referring to.

"Sir?"

"RK800," he said.

She stared at him for a moment, face blank, then her eyes widened. "Oh, you know him?!"

Hank rubbed the back of his neck, giving her a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I do."

"I'm sorry," Laura hurried to say, probably sensing his discomfort. "It's just that he's like this mysterious hero to us. Markus and his companions are present, but he just showed up with all these androids and then vanished."

"I get it, no worries."

She smiled at him before turning to grab a pair of the boxer briefs. "I'm glad," she said, "that he's clearly doing well. I wondered if he was okay, but if he has a partner like you then it's all good. Would you like this gift-wrapped?"

"Yes, please," Hank somehow managed to say.

She placed it in a small cardboard box and wrapped it up, adding a shiny bow and everything.

"Thanks for all your help," he said as he finished paying, and then fled from the store.

It hit him after a few minutes that he hadn't mentioned being a cop. So how had she known Connor was his partner?

The one he'd been buying _underwear_ for, for fuck's sake.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he muttered, covering his burning face in his hands.

No wonder she'd gotten the wrong idea. What the hell had he even been thinking? He couldn't give this to Connor, no fucking way.

The shrill ring of his phone made him jerk. He pulled it out and looked at the display. Connor. Of course it was.

"Yeah?" he answered, gruffly.

Perhaps a bit too gruffly, because Connor immediately faltered. "Sorry, did I call at a bad time?"

"No, it's fine. What's up?"

"You left in such a hurry yesterday that we never got to make plans for tonight."

No shit, he had left in a hurry. He'd dozed off with Connor in his arms, and when he'd woken up a couple of hours later he'd been cleaned up and covered with a blanket. Connor had been lying next to him, smiling warmly at him as he opened his eyes.

Hank hadn't been able to leave fast enough.

"What's there to decide? I'll swing by and pick you up."

"No," Connor said immediately, almost fervently. "I'll pick you up."

"In what?"

"I'll take a taxi."

Hank snorted. "What the hell for?"

"Because that's how it's done. I should be the one to pick you up."

"You're making it sound like it's a date," Hank said, chuckling.

Connor let out a strange, choked sound. He didn't reply.

"Connor? What..." he began, only to cut himself off as realization finally came. "Oh, I get it now. You want to practice this too. You really are thorough, huh?"

"Yeah," Connor said, voice flat. "I sure am."

"Okay, sure. I guess in a way you did ask me out, so you're right that you should be the one to pick me up. And hey, if I don't have to drive myself I can drink. That's a perk." God knew he'd need booze to get through the party, especially if Connor was going to pretend they were on a date.

"I'll pick you up at a quarter to seven, then?" Connor's voice was still oddly toneless, as if he'd suddenly lost all enthusiasm about going. It made no sense.

"You're not nervous about dancing, are you? 'Cause you got that down pat, I promise. I'm the one who stepped on your toes, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," he said. There was warmth in his voice again, and Hank smiled. So he'd just been nervous, nothing more serious than that.

"Well then, I'll see you at a quarter to seven. Bye for now."

"Bye, Hank."

He pocketed the phone and took a deep breath. Time to head home and try to make himself presentable.

\----

Hank stared at himself in the mirror.

He had showered, dressed, and made a complete mess of his tie. He'd redone the knot three times, but each time it just got worse. It felt like it was strangling him. He gave it one last tug and then gave it up as a lost cause.

So, he was all dressed — that left his damn face.

He'd stopped by the grocery store on the way home, buying the first product kit he saw. He picked it up and looked through its contents. He'd had a faint notion of maybe shaving, but no, that was a dumb idea. He would settle for doing something with his hair; that was more than enough.

He squinted at the small text on one of the bottle labels. Some sort of hair gel, which apparently gave a 'wet look'. He didn't want to look like he'd just stepped out of the shower, so he tossed that one aside.

The next one claimed to be 'invisible and long-lasting' — both of which sounded good. He put a glop of it in his hands and smoothed his hair back.

He stared critically at his reflection. His hair still looked dry and fairly normal, none of that flat slicked-back look he'd wanted to avoid. He looked idiotic, of course, but it was still a bit dressier than just letting his hair hang down.

The doorbell rang. "Shit," he swore, glancing down at his watch. Connor was — exactly on time. Naturally.

He left the bathroom and went to open the door, but came to a sudden halt on the way. The gift-wrapped package was sitting on the kitchen table where he'd left it.

"Just a second," he called, grabbing it and making a mad dash into the bedroom. He carelessly tossed it into the closet and shut the door. The doorbell rang again.

"Oh, for fuck's sake... Don't break my goddamn window!" he yelled. He hurried to the door and wrenched it open.

Connor was wearing a tuxedo. A perfectly form-fitted tuxedo, clinging to his body in all the right places. He looked utterly amazing, and Hank dimly realized he was staring. Possibly drooling, as well.

He stepped aside, gesturing for Connor to enter. He did, gaze never leaving Hank. He was staring too.

"Shit," Hank muttered, "that bad?" His hand self-consciously went to his hair, trying to cover it. Maybe he could wash it out.

"No, not at all," Connor quickly said, stumbling over the words. "You look great." He blinked, eyes finally moving away to look down at his own hand, as if suddenly remembering something.

He raised it and held out a single red carnation.

"For you," he said softly. "I know it should traditionally be a rose, but I — I don't like them."

Hank slowly took the proffered gift. "Thank you," he said. "No one has ever brought me flowers before."

It made him feel special, and that was all wrong. Connor was merely training for the real thing. He couldn't afford to let it get to him.

"Thank you," he said again, dumbly.

"It's my pleasure," Connor said, a wistful smile curling his lips. "You deserve all the flowers in the world, as far as I'm concerned. I'm sorry no one ever gave you any."

"No," Hank said, shaking his head. "I'm glad you were the first." First and last, if he were to be honest with himself. No one else ever would, and that was fine with him.

He might just be a stand-in to Connor, but to him it was real enough.

"I'll put it in water, hang on." He went rummaging through the cabinets, hunting for a vase. Finally he rinsed an empty beer bottle and filled it up with water. He put the carnation in and placed the makeshift vase on the kitchen table.

It brightened up the whole place.

Connor was looking at him and smiling, while absently petting Sumo. "You're gonna get hair all over your clothes," Hank said.

"It's okay. I don't mind." He tilted his head to the side as Hank came over to stand next to him. "You really do look great."

Hank grimaced, reaching up to yank at his tie. "I couldn't get this damn thing to look right."

Connor lifted his hands, brushing against Hank's fingers. "I can tie it for you, if you want."

"Please."

Connor stepped in close and untied his messy attempt, fingers smoothing down the fabric — skirting along Hank's chest in the process — before redoing the knot.

"There you go," he murmured. He retained a grip on the tie, eyes moving up to meet Hank's gaze. Hank was unable to look away, mouth completely dry.

Connor tugged at the tie, inexorably pulling him downwards. Hank let his eyes drift shut, lips parting in anticipation of the kiss.

Connor's lips touched his forehead, bringing him back to reality just as surely as if Connor had punched him. Hank stepped back. The tie slipped through Connor's fingers.

"Ready to go?" he forced out.

Connor looked away. "Yeah," he said, quietly.

\----

The party was every bit as boring as he'd expected. The last time he'd been to one of these there had at least been decent food. Now it was all smoked salmon, small crusts of bread with caviar on top, and other crap.

Hank stuck to the beer. Something stronger wouldn't have gone amiss, but he was here for Connor's sake, and damn if he was going to ruin Connor's night by getting drunk.

Then again Connor didn't seem to be having much fun — he'd stayed by Hank's side the whole time so far. He hadn't even ventured out on the dance floor yet.

"Aren't you going to dance?" he asked.

Connor turned to him, an excited smile lighting up his face. "I'd love to, yes." He held out his arm for Hank.

"Whoa, I wasn't offering. Hell no, that's where I draw the line. I'll attend, but I'm not dancing."

"You sound just liked Jeffrey."

Hank turned and met the wry smile of Brenda. "Then he's a smarter man than I gave him credit for," he replied. "Hi, Brenda. It's been a while."

"Too long." She turned her attention to Connor. "Is this your partner that I've been hearing so much about? Hello, I'm Brenda Fowler," she said, extending her hand towards Connor.

He took it, shaking her hand with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fowler. My name is Connor."

Jeffrey sidled up to them. "Having fun?" he asked, smirking at Hank.

"Lots. You?"

"Oh yes."

Brenda clicked her tongue. "Maybe you'd have more fun if you would actually dance with your wife, Jeffrey."

"This again?" Jeffrey muttered under his breath.

"Brenda used to be a professional dancer," Hank said, trying to fill Connor in. "Jeffrey here signed up for a dance class she was holding, just to meet her."

"And that was basically the last time he willingly danced with me," Brenda complained. "False advertising, was what it was."

Connor seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he turned to Brenda with a little bow. "I'd be honored to dance with you, Mrs. Fowler. If you don't mind, Captain?" he added, glancing at Jeffrey.

"Never mind him," Brenda said, reaching out to hook her arm in Connor's. "You snooze, you lose. Isn't that right, Hank?" She gave him a pointed look before the two of them headed for the dance floor.

"Thank God," Jeffrey said. "That partner of yours is a life saver."

"Yeah," Hank agreed absently, "he is."

The band started playing a slow melody and Connor led Brenda out on the dance floor. Together they danced a perfect waltz. At the end he even dipped her, keeping his own posture straight and distant — perfectly chaste, and completely unlike the way he'd leaned into Hank's personal space yesterday.

Brenda was grinning widely when they stood back up, and leaned in to say something to Connor. He smiled and pointed towards Hank. Had she asked him who'd taught him how to waltz? Hank grimaced and took another swig of his beer.

The band started up the next song — a tango.

Hank watched as Brenda tugged Connor towards the dance floor again, but he resisted. They conversed for a moment, and then it seemed like Connor reluctantly gave in.

"Another one?" Jeffrey grumbled, causing Hank to start. He'd almost forgotten Jeffrey was there.

Connor and Brenda took the classic tango poses, and then — they danced. Flawlessly, smoothly, like they'd danced together a million times before. Connor was leading her without hesitation, hitting each step of the intricate dance with skillful confidence.

Hank had taught him nothing of the sort.

It was almost more of a performance than a dance; the way Brenda clung to his frame, the sensual and passionate way Connor moved his body.

Gavin sauntered by, an amused sneer twisting his lips. "Fuck, I'd be hard-pressed to say which one of you looks the most jealous."

"Piss off, Reed," Jeffrey said. Gavin executed a sloppy salute and walked on.

Hank let his gaze move around the room. Only Connor and Brenda were dancing, and almost everyone was watching them. Definitely a performance.

The music wound down, and Connor dipped her again — a lot deeper this time — before they fell into the classic ending pose. They stood back up to the sounds of applause. Brenda curtsied and smiled at the crowd, but Connor turned and sought out Hank's gaze.

He looked happy, excited even, as if he'd done something awesome and eagerly wanted to see Hank's reaction to it. Whatever he saw in Hank's face was clearly the wrong thing, though. His smile fell. He looked away, shoulders slumped.

Hank turned and went to the bar. Fuck the beers, he needed something stronger.

He had a few drinks, trying to drown the urge to turn his head and look at Connor. He was probably dancing again and having fun. He didn't need Hank staring at him like a lovelorn loser.

"Since when does Connor know the captain of SWAT?"

Hank glanced over at Ben, sliding in the bar stool next to him. "Huh?"

"You didn't see? He practically jumped Connor the second he stopped dancing with Brenda. They seem to be really chummy."

Hank turned to look. Connor was talking to Captain — what was his name? Alan? Hank had never dealt with him directly, but he was known as a capable and frank guy. He was also handsome, Hank absently noted.

They did seem to be pretty friendly, standing close together and everything. That was great; he _wanted_ Connor to have friends. He swallowed the last of his Scotch, trying to wash away the bitter taste of bile from his mouth.

As he watched Connor's gaze shifted, meeting his eyes. He held the contact a few seconds too long, and that was enough for Hank. He got up and headed over.

Connor took a step to his side when he arrived, which for some reason felt like a relief.

"Lieutenant Anderson, this is Captain Allen."

With Connor's programming and knowledge of etiquette there was probably no doubt that he knew you were supposed to introduce the lower-ranking person to the higher-ranking one. And yet he hadn't.

"Hello," Hank said, extending his hand. Allen took it. He had a firm, solid grip. "I don't think we've ever actually spoken, but I've heard a lot about you."

"Likewise," Allen said. "Some of it from Connor, just now."

"I met him during my first mission," Connor explained.

"The hostage situation you mentioned?"

"Yes."

"Had I known how things would pan out, I would've held on to this one," Allen said as he gave Hank a grin, all teeth.

"Oh?" Hank tried to keep his voice as bland as possible. He snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a server who walked by, and emptied it.

"The brass wants my team to have at least one android in it. And him I know. I know he can get the job done." His gaze shifted to Connor. "We worked well together, right?"

"Right. But, Captain..."

Allen raised a hand, silencing him. "As I said, you don't have to answer immediately. You promised you'd think about it, and that's good enough for me."

The brittle stem of the champagne flute snapped beneath Hank's fingers. He moved the glass behind his back in an attempt to hide it.

Connor looked at him, eyebrows drawn together. He'd noticed.

"Captain Allen," he said, eyes still fastened on Hank. "I only said that because you wouldn't take no for an answer. I won't be transferring."

Allen opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a woman walking up to Connor. Hank didn't recognize her — probably someone's wife or girlfriend. She was blushing, but still bravely looked up at Connor. "Excuse me," she said, "but would you dance with me?"

"I'm sorry," Connor replied, "but now is not a good time."

"Oh, don't mind me," Allen said. "Go on, don't turn down the pretty lady."

Connor ignored him. "Sorry," he repeated, giving the girl a tight smile. She looked mortified.

Hank sighed. "It's alright, Connor. Have some fun."

It seemed like he'd protest, but then he nodded and offered his arm to the girl. They went towards the dance floor.

"It turns out I owe one of my men an apology," Allen said as he watched Connor's retreating form. "He told me something about Connor that I didn't believe at the time."

"And what was that?" Hank asked. He felt like a fish that had just taken the bait, and was now hooked and ready to be reeled in. The small quirk of Allen's lips — imperceptible if he hadn't been looking for it — confirmed the feeling.

But Hank didn't care what Allen thought of him. He wanted to know more about what Connor had experienced before they met, and if he had to act like a fool to gain that information then so be it.

"The family had an aquarium, you see. It was situated right by the elevator, and had been partly broken during the incident. My subordinate told me that he saw Connor stop by the puddle of water on the floor and kneel down. There was a fish there, which he picked up and put back in the tank."

Hank fought down a smile. Allen might not have believed the story, but he did. It was so like Connor, and it warmed his heart that Connor had had the potential for empathy even back then.

"I thought it was a silly story, obviously. A machine, delaying its mission in order to save the life of a fish? Nonsense. But tonight, after meeting you, I realize it was true."

Hank chuckled. Here it came. Time for the punchline.

"It seems to me that he has a soft spot for helpless things."

Hank bared his teeth in a mirthless smile. "I'm not about to argue."

"That's prudent of you. Does that mean you'll speak to him?"

Hank caught the eye of one of the servers. "Whisky," he mouthed. The man nodded in understanding, and Hank turned back to Allen, letting his smile gain a sharp edge. "You insult a man, and then you ask him for a favor? I may be both helpless and washed-up, but even I know better than that."

"I'm not asking for a favor. I'm merely asking you to do the right thing. He has a chance at a good career, with me. With you..." Allen trailed off, apparently feeling that the silence got his point across just fine.

It did.

Hank wasn't about to give him that satisfaction, however. "I'll be sure to bring it up," he said casually.

The server came with his drink, and Hank held up a finger to indicate that he should wait. He downed the contents of the glass in one go and put it back on the tray, along with the broken champagne flute. "One more, please. Make it a double this time."

The server nodded and left.

It was funny, now that he thought about it. He'd felt like a hooked fish when Allen began his story, and then it had turned out to literally be about a fish. He laughed.

Allen looked at him in the same manner that someone would look at the bottom of their shoe after having stepped in shit. "Just how drunk are you?" he asked.

"Not nearly drunk enough."

Allen shook his head. "Well then, if you'll excuse me."

Hank waved him off. "You're excused."

The server returned with his whisky. He drank it slowly while watching Connor dance. He seemed to be enjoying himself. No need for Hank to stick around and drag him down.

Hell, he'd probably been having fun talking to Allen before Hank decided to meddle. He'd intentionally misinterpreted Connor's look as a plea for assistance, because — why, really? Because he'd been jealous? Because he was fairly sure he didn't personally know the man Connor was in love with, and Allen seemed like a likely candidate?

Whatever the reason, it was time to withdraw. Connor would be fine without him, probably wouldn't even notice that he had left. He set down his empty glass on a table on the way out, and waved bye to Chris as he went by.

The outside air was cold, wrapping its icy fingers around his body and making him shiver.

He looked for his car for a good thirty seconds before remembering that they'd arrived by taxi. "Ah, shit," he muttered.

"I called a taxi. It should be here in less than three minutes."

Hank stiffened. "Thanks," he said, careful to not turn around and look at Connor. "You don't have to wait with me, go back inside. It's freezing out here."

"The cold doesn't bother me." Connor's hands touched his shoulders, placing something there before pulling back.

Hank glanced down — Connor's tuxedo jacket. It wasn't quite big enough to be draped around both his shoulders; one was covered, the other only had the sleeve hanging over it. It was such a sweet gesture that it made something inside of him ache.

He turned around and faced Connor.

"I'm not going to transfer, Hank." Connor smiled at him, tender and reassuring. "Okay?"

"Okay."

It'd be the best thing for him, though. He _should_ transfer; let Allen boost his career instead of chaining himself to a helpless failure.

Connor reached out to take both of Hank's hands between his own, rubbing gently. "We can wait inside," he suggested.

"No, it's fine. You're warm."

"I raised my temperature a little. Here, see," he said, stepping in close. He let go of Hank's hands to slide his arms around Hank's waist instead, in a loose embrace.

Hank knew he shouldn't, but he was unable to stop himself from returning the hug. His head dropped to Connor's shoulder, hiding his face from view.

The taxi would come any second now, and Connor would go back inside.

The sound of a car driving up to the parking lot and stopping came much too soon. "That the taxi?" he asked, voice muffled against the fabric of Connor's shirt.

"Yeah."

Connor didn't seem inclined to let go, and Hank let himself remain in Connor's arms for a moment longer before stepping away. He removed Connor's jacket and held it out towards him. "Thanks for the loan."

"Keep it."

"No, you should put it back on before going inside."

Connor raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean? I'm going home with you."

The temptation of just agreeing was almost overpowering. 'Do the right thing,' a little voice mocked — it sounded like Allen, damn it all.

He shoved the jacket at Connor. "Come off it. I know you're serious about training for your real dates, but you don't need to escort me home. We're not gonna share a kiss on the porch as we say bye."

Something in Connor's eyes hardened, jaw working. "Thanks, I'm well aware of that. I'm still going with you."

Hank stared at him, mouth set in steely determination. "Fine," he snapped, "suit yourself."

He turned and walked to the taxi, entering it and twisting his body to stare out the window. Connor joined him a few seconds later, and off they went.

Neither of them spoke.

After a while Hank wished Connor would say something, though. He was starting to feel woozy and borderline nauseous. It really hadn't been smart to drink like that on an empty stomach.

He tried to focus on the streetlamps and buildings passing by outside the window, but that just made it worse.

"You really made Brenda's night," he finally said, desperate enough that he was willing to be the first to break the silence. Wasn't like he had any pride to lose, anyway.

"She's nice. Said if Captain Fowler ever gave me a hard time I should tell her, and she'd set him straight."

"She probably would, too. I guess..." he hesitated for a second before pressing on, "I guess she was really impressed with your tango skills. Hell, so was I. A bit of a surprise, sure, but impressive."

"I didn't want to say no. She seemed so excited, told me it was her favorite type of dance."

"I wasn't implying that you shouldn't have danced with her," Hank said. "I just don't see why you asked me to teach you how to waltz when you were _clearly_ capable of learning on your own."

Connor didn't respond, and Hank felt anger rising. "What," he said, scoffing, "was it a fun joke to you? Is that it?"

Connor's reflection in the car window slowly raised his head and looked at Hank. The reflection was faint, but Hank could still see the hurt written plain as day across Connor's features. "You think I _laughed_ at you?"

Hank tipped his head forward, slamming his forehead against the window, close enough that he couldn't see Connor's reflection. "No," he whispered, "I don't think that. I'm drunk, and when I'm drunk I say stupid shit. Things I don't actually _mean_. I'm sorry, Connor. Don't listen to me."

"You have reached your destination. Thank you for traveling with Detroit Taxis. We look forward to seeing you again soon."

Hank got out as quickly as he could, stepping out into the cold night. The dizziness hit immediately and made him stumble back against the car. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain his equilibrium.

"Here, lean on me." Connor's voice was quiet and very close. Too close.

"I can handle it," he said, opening his eyes and pushing off the car in one fell swoop.

His path to the house wasn't a straight line, but at least he got there on his own. He fumbled with the keys for a while, Connor a patient and silent presence by his side.

He finally got the correct key into the lock and opened the door, looking over at Connor with a triumphant grin. Two seconds later Sumo slammed against his legs, making him fall backwards.

Connor was there to catch him, still so blessedly warm that Hank allowed himself the luxury of just letting himself be held up a moment too long.

"Come on, Sumo, back inside," Connor said. "Just give me five minutes."

Sumo did as told, and Connor maneuvered Hank inside as well, a steadying hand on the small of his back.

He guided Hank to the bedroom, gently pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He knelt down in front of Hank and took off his shoes. Connor's fingers then moved up to loosen Hank's tie and undo the first few buttons of his shirt.

Hank leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. He closed his eyes. "Connor," he murmured. "Kiss me."

Silence. Then, "No."

Taking care to keep his eyes shut, Hank pulled away and let himself fall back on the bed. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't see Connor, but he apparently stayed on his knees — Hank could feel the heat of him seeping through the fabric of his pants from where Connor's body was pressed against his leg.

"You told me you didn't want to kiss someone you weren't in love with," Connor said. "That was your one rule."

"Right. Sorry, forget it."

"Why don't you ask me when you're sober?" Connor sounded strange — upset, almost angry.

Yeah, no, Hank wasn't about to bring it up again. Connor was obviously pissed at him for breaching their agreement, and if he mentioned it again Connor might even call the whole thing off. Or, at the very least, initiate a talk about how the only person he wanted to kiss was Allen. Or whoever the fuck the bastard was.

"Did you hear me, Hank? Ask me again when you're not drunk."

"Don't be mad," Hank said. "I'm sorry, alright? Look, let's — let's fuck. That's the perfect end to a date, right?" He was probably too drunk to be able to get hard, but Connor could still fuck him. Or use his mouth; he should still be capable of giving Connor a blowjob, even if he felt like shit.

Connor got to his feet and stepped back. Hank immediately missed his warmth. "No," he repeated. Just that one word.

It sounded final.

As did the sound of his footsteps as he left the bedroom, and likewise the click of the front door.

Hank continued staring up at the ceiling, blinking furiously to get his eyes to stop stinging.

Once he got himself under control he sat up and removed his clothes. He tossed them on the floor and grabbed the T-shirt hanging on the armchair next to the bed.

Thus dressed for the night he lay back on the bed, facing the window. He pulled up his knees and curled his body together as much as he could. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything.

The sound of the front door opening and then closing again made him hold his breath. He heard Connor speaking softly, too quiet to pick out the actual words. Then he came back into the bedroom, walking around the bed to crouch down in front of Hank.

"You should try to drink some water," he said as he held up a glass, ice cubes clinking.

"You came back," Hank mumbled.

Connor frowned. "I never left."

"I heard you go."

"I only went out in the backyard with Sumo. He had to pee."

"Oh." Hank felt like an idiot.

"You really thought I'd just up and leave you like this?" Connor asked. He set down the glass on the nightstand before reaching out to gently caress Hank's cheek. His fingers were cool and damp from the condensation on the glass.

"You didn't want to fuck," Hank tried to explain.

"And that's the only thing I could possibly want from you, huh?" His hand stilled, thumb moving slowly against Hank's skin. His eyes grew dark. "You're wrong, you know. I'm greedy. I want a lot more than just that."

Anything he wanted, Hank would give. It belonged to him already, anyway, whatever it was. "Stay the night?"

Connor gave him one of those special tiny smiles. "You just try to get rid of me."

Hank felt an answering smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Wouldn't dream of it. You're way too stubborn for me."

Connor's hand moved to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind his ear. "I really like your hair this way. Lets me see your face."

That sounded like a detriment to Hank, but he'd take what he could get. He turned his face slightly to press a kiss against Connor's palm.

"Hank..."

"Mm?"

Connor blinked a couple of times, looking dazed, before pulling back and getting to his feet. "Mind if I borrow something to wear?"

"Sure, grab whatever you want."

He nodded and went to the closet. But as soon as he opened it he froze. "What's this?"

"What's what?"

"There's a gift-wrapped package in here."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. "It's nothing."

Connor turned back around, package in his hands. "Did you wrap it yourself? It only has your fingerprints on it."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Don't analyze it," he said, sitting up. He groaned as another wave of nausea hit — he was _not_ going to puke, goddammit.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He'd be a lot better if Connor would just put the package away, but that didn't seem likely to happen.

"So did you wrap it?" Yep, not a chance in hell.

"No, I didn't."

"An android, then," Connor said. He scowled, mouth thinning to a grim line. "Did the station receptionist give this to you? The one who always smiles at you? What's her name, Cecilia?"

Hank stared. If he didn't know better he'd say that Connor sounded jealous. But that was ridiculous. Right? "Her name is Laura," he said, just as a test.

Connor's face darkened. The package's shape was starting to warp beneath the force of his grip. "I don't know anyone named that," he said.

Hank looked away. So what if Connor was acting a bit strange? It didn't mean anything. He was just reading into it, seeing what he wanted to see. Connor had refused to kiss him when he'd asked. He needed to remember that.

"Laura, the clerk at the store I bought it at," he clarified.

"Oh. Then — then who is it for?"

"It's for you, you moron!" Hank snapped. "What's with you and snooping around in my stuff, anyway? If it isn't the dog hairs on my chair it's this. Fuck."

"Can I open it?" Connor asked, completely ignoring his outburst.

"Knock yourself out. I'm going to sleep." He resisted the petty urge to pull the duvet over his head and settled for burying his face in the pillow.

He could still hear the quiet rustle as Connor opened the gift. Silence settled, for an uncomfortably long time. Then sounds of Connor grabbing something from the closet, and footsteps. Leaving the room.

He looked up just in time to see the bathroom door shutting.

Well, _shit_. Was Connor that creeped out? He'd crossed a line, and he knew it. You didn't buy underwear for your friend, even if said friend was someone you had sex with on a regular basis. Especially if said friend was someone you had sex with on a regular basis, as a present like that implied deeper feelings. If it had been something skimpy in black or dark red he could spin it as being about lust, but this? Happy yellow with cartoon dogs? That was about love.

The door to the bathroom opened and Connor stepped out.

He was wearing Hank's old hooded sweatshirt from the academy. No pants. He had been jaw-droppingly stunning in the tuxedo, but this look had it beat on all fronts.

He stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, giving Hank an oddly shy smile. His hands moved to the hem of the hoodie and lifted it up, revealing the leanly muscular planes of his stomach — and the boxer briefs.

"I love them," he said, voice soft. "Thank you so much, Hank."

"Y-yeah, sure, don't mention it."

Connor moved forward and got in the bed, lying on his side and facing Hank. He was still smiling. He looked so damn happy, gazing at Hank as if he were all the things he wasn't; as if he were something more than the pathetic drunk who had dragged Connor away from the party he'd been so excited for.

He clenched his fist. "I'm sorry for ruining your night."

"You didn't ruin anything," Connor said, reaching out to place his hand on top of Hank's. He gently undid the fist and laced their fingers together. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know that's not true. The party, you — you wanted to dance."

"I didn't get to dance with the one person I truly wanted to, so it doesn't matter."

Shit, had he been about to ask Allen to dance when Hank had stuck his nose in? "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Don't be," Connor said, smiling. "Maybe later, yeah? There's no rush."

Right, of course, there were still plenty of chances for him to dance with Allen. Even if he didn't transfer. "Right," he ground out. "Later."

Connor's smile faded. "I won't force it, though. I'd never do that. You know that, don't you?"

Hank frowned, confused. "Sure, I know that. Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll turn out okay." He really wasn't up for talking about how Connor could best woo Allen, so he continued, "Let's try to get some sleep, alright?"

"Of course, sorry."

He should turn around, or at least let go of Connor's hand. He did neither.

"Good night, Hank," Connor said, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed back. "Night, Connor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: The talented and generous Eithe has drawn some fanart for this chapter, featuring Connor in the doggy boxer briefs and Hank's hoodie! Be sure to check it out [here](http://teaandinanity.tumblr.com/post/176540358454), it's utterly adorable ♥


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't miss [the adorable fanart](http://teaandinanity.tumblr.com/post/176540358454) by Eithe, inspired by Connor's outfit in the last chapter!

There were plenty of things Hank didn't want to do while hungover. Be awake, for example. But at the absolute top of his list, were he to make one, would be foot chases.

Before Connor they had been a rarity, something that happened once in a blue moon. Now? It seemed like every other case they had ended up with Connor recklessly pursuing someone — Hank chasing after, heart in his throat.

He really hadn't expected it from this one, though.

An anonymous caller had alerted them to a dead android in an alley. He and Connor had arrived at the scene to find it already cordoned off, a couple of beat cops trying to get the curious onlookers to back off.

One of them had turned to Hank, and said, "Probably fell from the roof, judging from how badly the body is smashed up."

Hank had glanced up at the tall buildings on either side of the alley, grimacing. But Connor's attention was clearly caught by something else. Hank followed his gaze to a woman — no LED, but he recognized her as an android nonetheless. Fairly common model, one he'd seen around a lot.

He'd just been about to ask Connor what was so interesting about her when she suddenly whirled around and ran. Connor had immediately chased after her, and Hank naturally chased after him.

And so here he was, running and swallowing down vomit with disturbing frequency.

Connor was a bit ahead of him, heedlessly darting in and out of traffic to catch up with the woman. It was hell on Hank's heart, but at least Connor wasn't jumping on top of a fucking moving train this time.

Had to be thankful for the little things.

The woman made a sharp turn again, crossing the road to the sounds of screeching tires and honking horns. Connor went after her, vaulting over the hood of a car in an attempt to gain on her.

It worked — Hank saw him reach out for her, fingers brushing against her jacket — and then they both entered an alley, disappearing from view.

"Fuck," he swore, desperately willing his legs to move faster.

By the time he caught up to them he had that metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Connor looked up from where he was cuffing the woman.

"Connor, are you okay?" he forced out, wheezing.

"Yes, I — I caught her," he said, as if Hank might somehow have missed that fact. As if _that_ was what he cared about.

Hank collapsed against the wall, fighting down the urge to throw up. His head was killing him.

"You should've stayed at the crime scene, Lieutenant. You're not feeling well."

Hank raised his head to glare at Connor. "I'm not about to leave you hanging without backup just because I have a headache," he snapped.

Connor lowered his head, smiling. "No, of course you wouldn't." There was something oddly pleased about the way he said that, and when he looked up again it was with an affectionate warmth in his eyes.

Hank forced himself to look away. He concentrated on the woman instead. She was staring at the ground, sullen. "Why did you run?" he asked.

"Because you're going to blame me, aren't you? I know you are. I only tried to help him, I swear!" She twisted and tried to escape from Connor's grip.

"Okay, okay," Hank said, trying to calm her. "Take it easy. We'll go down to the station and you can tell us what happened."

"No, no."

"It's okay," Connor cut in. "All we want is the truth. If you didn't do anything wrong then we'll let you go. All we want is to talk."

"What's your name?" Hank asked.

She hesitated before answering. "Janet."

"I'm Hank, and your running buddy there is Connor, my partner."

Apparently intent on following Hank's lead, Connor added, "Nice to meet you."

Hank disguised a bark of laughter as a cough, but the awkward greeting seemed to have relaxed Janet some. She didn't struggle as they began walking back.

When they got to the scene Connor glanced to the side, peering into the alley. He froze in his tracks, body rigid. "Shit," he hissed.

"What?"

"He's still alive," Connor said, letting go of Janet and racing to the fallen android.

Hank tried to nudge her towards one of the men, but she resisted and attempted to head into the alley as well. "Ask him! He'll tell you that I had nothing to do with it."

After a moment's deliberation he decided to let Janet follow — he wasn't about to waste precious time trying to wrestle her away. His gut told him she was innocent, anyway.

He let go of her and hurried into the alley after Connor.

The sight of the fallen android made him stumble, sick to his core. How he could possibly still be alive was completely unfathomable.

One of his arms was twisted in an unnatural angle, fingers all broken and pointing in different directions. The left side of his head was crushed, skull caved in and jaw pushed to the side. He was bleeding from every orifice on his face — mouth, nose, ears, even his _eyes_.

But despite everything Hank still recognized him. Or recognized his model, rather.

It was the same as the man they'd found on the roof of Stratford Tower. The one whose memory Connor had been connected to at the moment of death.

Hank could still see Connor up there, looking so utterly lost, body and voice trembling as he admitted to being scared.

It had to be bringing back memories for Connor too, but he somehow managed to stay focused on the man in front of him. Hank had to do the same.

"He doesn't _look_ alive," he ventured. He didn't; aside from how bad his body looked, he also wasn't moving at all. He was completely still and unresponsive, even as Connor crouched in front of him and leaned in close.

"He is," Connor replied, "but just barely. He doesn't have much time left, and he can't talk."

Hank realized what he was about to do a second too late.

Connor reached out, skin fading back from his hand, and gripped the dying man's forearm. Instantly Connor's body stiffened, eyes twitching.

Hank moved forward to wrench him away, but Janet stepped between them and blocked his path. "Don't," she said. "It's a bad idea to forcibly interrupt a memory probe — for the one doing it, in any case."

She could be lying. If she was innocent she had a vested interest in Connor seeing the memory, as it would exonerate her. But if she was telling the truth...

He couldn't take the chance.

"Fuck," he swore. He still moved in close, just in case, but he didn't touch Connor or do anything to interrupt.

After what felt like an eternity Connor let go. Mere seconds later the android slumped over, dead.

"Are you alright?" He pulled Connor to his feet, letting his hands linger in place.

Connor's eyes were frighteningly distant. "He jumped."

"Suicide?"

"Yes. His name was Andrew."

"Okay," Hank mumbled, patting Connor's shoulder. "We don't have to go through it now. Just take it easy."

"He took care of the household for a family," Connor continued, as if he hadn't even heard. "They wanted him gone after everything that happened. He offered to work for free. He loved them and didn't want to be separated from them."

"I get it, that's enough." He shook Connor slightly, trying to get his eyes to focus. "Look at me."

"He missed them, felt like he didn't have a purpose anymore. He went to the top of the roof. Janet tried to stop him. He jumped."

"Connor. _Hey._ " He punctuated his words by grabbing Connor's chin and forcibly turning his head to meet Hank's gaze. "You're here with me. It's over. You did good, but stop now. Okay?"

Connor blinked. Slowly, slowly, he nodded. Hank stroked his cheek once before removing his hand.

He stepped over to Janet and undid the cuffs. "Sorry about that, Janet. Thank you for your cooperation, and — thank you for trying to help Andrew, too."

She nodded, giving him a mournful smile. "I wish I'd been able to stop him."

"Not your fault, you hear me? Listen, you've had a rough day. Go home and get some rest. I'd really appreciate it if you could stop by the station tomorrow and see me. Leave a statement."

"I will," she said. "Thanks."

He smiled at her as she turned and left. One of the men made a move towards her, and Hank hurriedly waved him off. Janet disappeared into the crowd.

Hank moved back to Connor's side. He was looking at Andrew again, as if rooted in place.

"Nothing more we can do here, Connor. Let's go."

"I'd like to go tell his family. I mean, I know they weren't truly his family — he was nothing but a machine to them — but to the very end that's how he saw them. They're the only ones he had, too. So there's no one else to tell."

That seemed like a spectacularly bad idea to Hank, but he could tell Connor wanted to do it. Needed to, even.

"Alright. Let's do that, then."

\----

It was a nice house.

Hank sat and stared it for a moment, before turning to Connor. He looked tired. Maybe not physically, but like he was emotionally wrung out.

Hank really, really didn't want him to have to go through any more shit.

"Wait in the car."

The corners of Connor's mouth turned up into a faint smile. "It's been a while since I heard that."

"Yeah, and not once did you listen to me. But do as I ask this time, Connor. Please."

Connor nodded. His head was hanging low, staring down at his feet. Hank reached out to touch the nape of his neck, running his fingers through the short hair at the back of his head.

"I'll hurry back," he said softly. "Will you be okay?"

"You don't need to worry. I'm fine."

That was an obvious lie. But it wasn't the time nor the place to push. Hank withdrew his hand and got out of the car.

He squared his shoulders and walked up to the door. He had to knock twice before a man in his early forties opened the door.

"Thomas Danvers?" Hank asked.

"Yes?"

He held up his badge. "Lieutenant Anderson, Detroit Police."

"What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm here regarding Andrew. He took care of your household, right?"

Danvers made a face. "Now see here, whatever it's done you can't blame me for. Giving androids their so-called freedom means you can't hassle their rightful owners. Typical government, wants to have it both ways."

"I'm here because Andrew is dead," Hank said, cutting off the tirade.

Danvers demeanor instantly changed, going from indignation to relief. "Why didn't you say so from the start? The way you acted I thought it was something serious. Almost made me call my lawyer," he said, snickering. He stopped when noticing Hank didn't join in. "What?"

"Andrew killed himself by jumping off the roof of a building."

"So? I'm sorry if it made a mess, but that's not my problem."

"If you would like," Hank said, carefully keeping his voice calm and measured, "you can claim his body and make funeral arrangements on your own. If not, the city will provide that service, and you'd be more than welcome to attend."

Danvers stared at him. "A funeral for a machine," he said, sounding amused. "A pity I didn't know about that before. My microwave broke down a couple of days ago. Perhaps you would've liked to bury that, too."

Han was painfully glad that Connor had stayed in the car. Pretty much the only thing keeping his fist out of Danvers' smug face was the knowledge that it would get Connor to come running. And the last thing Hank wanted was for him to be subjected to this ugliness.

"Andrew was a faulty machine, that's all. There was something wrong with it."

"Yeah," Hank slowly said, "you're right. There had to have been something wrong with him to be able to love you and your family."

He didn't wait for a reply, just turned his back on Danvers and went back to the car.

Connor was still looking down.

"They'll come to the funeral."

"Liar," Connor murmured.

Hank was silent. He wanted to touch Connor, wanted to offer comfort in some way, but didn't know if it'd help. Didn't know if it'd even be welcome.

"Hey," he finally said," What do you say we blow off the report till tomorrow? Let's go home and watch an old movie."

Connor raised his head, meeting Hank's eyes with a small smile. "I'd like that," he said.

\----

"Why are they suddenly aliens?"

"Hell if I know," Hank said, shaking his head. "I was crazy about these movies when I was a kid, but the sequels really haven't held up."

"The first one was great, though. And I'm still enjoying it, I just — don't really get the alien thing. Or the shield; that isn't very realistic."

Hank laughed. "I don't think realism was their goal. But hey, the hero shares your name. That's still cool, right?" He nudged Connor with his elbow and waggled his eyebrows.

"Totally," Connor agreed, grinning.

He looked so much better now. Relaxed, happy. It made Hank's heart glad to see. He knew better than to think the events of the day weren't still on Connor's mind, but the wound was starting to close; no longer raw and bleeding.

Maybe they could talk about it later. But for now he wanted to keep the smile on Connor's face. He stuck his hand into the popcorn bowl in Connor's lap — he'd offered to hold it, leaving Hank's hands free for his bottle of beer.

He tossed one to Sumo, who skillfully caught it mid-air. "Gotta be careful not to slip in that pile of drool when we get up."

"Poor Sumo," Connor said, chuckling quietly. "His eyes have been glued to the popcorn all night."

"We've given him plenty. Don't fall for those pitiful looks."

"I've only given him two! You're the one who's been throwing them to him every other minute."

Hank opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of the doorbell cut him off. "What the hell," he muttered.

He got up from the couch as Connor turned off the TV, and went to open the door.

It was Melissa.

It was such an unexpected sight that for a moment he could only stand there, looking on in silence as Sumo eagerly greeted her.

He hadn't seen her since Cole's birthday last year, when he had spent all day at the cemetery. By the time she showed up he'd been drunk out of his mind.

Melissa had gotten really upset, and they'd had yet another fight. They hadn't spoken since then.

She gave Sumo a final pat and then looked up at him. "Hello. How are you?"

"I — I'm good," Hank forced out. "You?"

"I'm good too," she said. "That's why I'm here. I didn't want you to hear it from someone else. I'm getting married."

He stared at his ex-wife and tried to figure out what it was he was supposed to feel. No love remained between them, but once things had been different. She'd been part of his family, her and Cole. "I'm happy for you," he finally said. He even meant it.

Her smile wavered slightly as a wet sheen entered her eyes. "Thank you. I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but I'm glad you said that."

She made a move to enter, only to stop when she spotted Connor. "Oh, you have company," she started, then her eyes widened.

Hank glanced over his shoulder. Connor was still sitting on the couch. In the dim lighting there was no missing the glow of his LED.

"You have an android here?" Melissa asked.

"No," Hank replied, speaking very slowly, "I have my partner here."

"I'm sorry," Connor said. "I'll leave."

"Stay right where you are."

Melissa's face twisted in contempt. "What's going on? Why are you telling it to stay?"

"I'm telling _him_ to stay because I want him here."

"An android killed our son. Have you forgotten that?" The glare she sent Connor was pure hatred, as if he personally had reached inside of Cole and extinguished the flickering flame of his life.

"I haven't forgotten anything," Hank said, hating himself for the way his voice broke. "But the surgeon wasn't at fault. I realize that now. Maybe someday you will be able to, as well."

"I can't believe this. What's happened to you?"

Connor had happened. Connor had pulled him back to the land of the living, had given him a reason to wake up in the morning. But that wasn't something he could say aloud, especially not to Melissa.

"We need to talk," she said, "but not with that thing here. Get rid of it."

Hank could deal with whatever she said to him. But the way she kept referring to Connor as a thing was really starting to rankle. "Stop calling him that," he warned.

"It's me or it."

That was the final drop. Hank scoffed at her. "Is that supposed to be a tough choice?"

"Hank," Connor cut in, "I'll go. It's okay, honestly."

No, it wasn't okay at all. There was no fucking way Connor was going to be driven out of Hank's home while he still drew breath.

"I wish you well in your new marriage, Melissa. Truly, I do. But don't come here again."

The slap was instantaneous. She stared at him in mute disbelief, before going back to her awaiting taxi. Hank watched it drive off before closing the door and turning around to face Connor.

He looked miserable. "I'm so sorry, Hank."

"What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "If I hadn't been here..."

"Then we probably would've gotten into an argument anyway. And what the hell are you apologizing for? You've done nothing wrong."

Connor lowered his head and didn't answer.

This was far from the first time Connor had apologized for merely existing; for having the sheer gall to be an android. Hank had even caused it a couple of times, during those first days together, and that was enough to make him feel like kicking himself.

He walked forward to stand in front of Connor. "Hey," he said, "how about you stop apologizing for being you? I happen to think that you're a pretty decent guy, y'know."

Connor snorted quietly. "And we all know what bad taste you have. Just look at your shirts."

"Woah," Hank said, covering his heart as if mortally wounded. "That's a low blow."

Connor smiled at him, all soft and fond, and there it was again — that warm light in his eyes.

To hell with it.

Hank slowly reached out to cup Connor's face. He let his thumb caress Connor's cheek before drifting down to trail against his lower lip.

Connor's eyes were wide, and he stood absolutely still. His lips parted, just slightly, but it was enough for his tongue to dart out and wet them — touching against Hank's thumb in the process.

Hank shifted his hand to the back of Connor's neck and pulled him closer. Just the gentlest of tugs, giving him plenty of room to resist or pull away if he wanted to.

He didn't.

The kiss was slow, both of them taking their time to explore each other in this last remaining way.

He'd been a fool to think that avoiding kissing would be able to stop him from falling in love with Connor. Even back then he had been so far gone that he'd been beyond all salvation.

He might as well embrace it wholeheartedly and enjoy it while it lasted.

Connor broke the kiss, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. "Let's go to bed," he murmured.

"What," Hank replied, "you don't want to watch the end of the movie?"

A low growl escaped from Connor's throat as he surged forward and captured Hank's lips in another kiss. Rough and intense this time, leaving Hank panting for breath. "Okay, I'll take that as a no."

They moved towards the bedroom. Not very quickly, because Connor kept pushing him up against the walls and kissing him. Deep and thorough, as if trying to map out the inside of his mouth.

He dimly wondered if Connor was analyzing it, if that was why he seemed so into it. Salt and butter from the popcorn, and beer — damn, not exactly the sexiest tastes for him to pick up on.

Connor pushed him more firmly against the wall, scattering his thoughts. He moved one of his legs between Hank's, grinding against his erection.

"Fuck," he hissed, turning his head away from Connor's mouth. Connor responded by moving down to his throat, nipping and sucking before tenderly licking the spot as if in apology.

"Get your ass in the bathroom," he ordered. Or tried to, in any case. It mostly sounded like a pathetic plea. "There's lube somewhere under the sink. Find it."

Connor stilled against him for a moment, pressing one soft kiss to his lips before going into the bathroom.

Hank went in the opposite direction, entering the bedroom. He stepped out of his sweatpants and boxers, leaving the T-shirt on.

He wanted to make Connor happy. Wanted to give him everything he desired. And maybe he really had just been trying to be nice the last time, trying to be a considerate lover, but...

But if he hadn't, if he'd truly meant all those things he'd said, even just on some small level, then Hank wanted to give him what he'd asked for.

No more hiding.

When Connor stepped through the doorway he pulled off the T-shirt and deliberately threw it at Connor's feet. It was a statement, nonverbal and nowhere near good enough, but it was the best he could offer.

He stood there completely naked in front of Connor, heart hammering.

Connor thankfully didn't keep him waiting — one second he stood there, staring, the next he rushed forward and more or less tackled Hank to the bed.

"Hank, Hank," he babbled, as he frantically tore off his own clothes.

His heart might not be in it, but his body definitely was. There was no more denying that. It was a lot more than Hank deserved; so much for doing the right thing.

He didn't want Connor to notice the guilt so he turned over, presenting his back.

Connor kissed his way down Hank's spine, agonizingly slow. "C'mon, please, fuck me," he begged.

The weight of Connor's body vanished, followed shortly by the sound of a flip-top cap being opened. Good, he'd found the lube.

Connor's hands skirted against his ass, fingers slick. He pushed back against the contact, moaning in gratitude when Connor slipped a finger inside of him.

He took his sweet time, working Hank open with a gentle patience that made him want to scream. His cock lay trapped between the mattress and his own body, achingly hard and neglected.

Finally Connor removed his fingers, the blunt warmth of his cock taking their place. But he didn't push inside, just rubbed up and down along the cleft of Hank's ass.

He leaned forward, chest pressing against Hank's back. "Tell me you want me," he said, voice low and hoarse.

"You know I fucking do," Hank shot back.

"I want to hear you say it. Please, Hank. Tell me you want me. Say my name."

There was something there, in that request. Some important thing his brain caught on — the part of his brain he knew to always listen to, the one that had helped him solve numerous cases. Like a knitted sweater getting caught on a jagged edge and slowly unraveling, thread by thread. If he could just focus, could just _think_...

Connor's fingers spread his cheeks, cock brushing against his hole. Any semblance of thought left him.

"Connor," he said, "I want you. God, I want you so bad. Please, Connor."

Connor entered him in one steady motion, deep enough that his balls smacked against Hank's ass. One of them let out a strangled sob of pleasure — he honestly didn't know if it was him or Connor, and he couldn't bring himself to care either as Connor began to move.

His hips snapped, jostling Hank hard enough that he finally got some friction against his cock. Connor's arm snaked around his waist and lifted him up, down into Connor's lap.

He whimpered in protest — he'd been so close — and Connor's hand wrapped around his cock, giving him the touch he so desperately craved.

It only took a couple of strokes for him to come. Connor fucked him through it, thumb gently scraping against the oversensitive head of his cock as he hit against Hank's prostate with each thrust. Hank saw stars, only barely aware of Connor's teeth sinking into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

He came back to himself a while later. He'd been moved to lie down, head resting on Connor's chest.

His hand was slowly petting Hank's head, fingers combing through the sweaty tangles of his hair. He was sticky and sore all over, but it was such a nice feeling that he couldn't resist closing his eyes again.

He dozed off like that, Connor whispering something he didn't manage to decipher before sleep claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand after ~26000 words we finally have a first kiss! Thank you all for your patience and for sticking with the story, you guys are the absolute best ♥
> 
> We aren't quite at the end yet, still have a few chapters to go, but we're getting there!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go! ♥ 
> 
> I've been offline for a while, so I'm really sorry about replying late to some of the comments in last chapter. My computer time is still limited and a bit sporadic, so I apologize for being slow to reply in general right now :(

Something wet and cold pressed against the sole of Hank's foot.

Unfortunately for Sumo, years worth of being woken by dog nose had made him immune. Connor didn't know that, though. "No, Sumo," he whispered, "don't wake him."

"Nn, too late." Sumo licked his foot, pleased his old trick had worked.

Hank pulled his foot away, only to swallow a groan as his body protested the movement. Fuck, but he was sore all over, even in spots he barely knew he had. What the hell had he done to — oh. The events of last night came flooding back to him.

He cracked open one eye, warily. Connor was looking at him. He jerked slightly when he noticed Hank's gaze, and produced a very unconvincing smile. "Good morning," he said, as his fingers beat a rapid and uneven rhythm against the mattress. He was nervous.

Connor was never nervous.

"Yeah," Hank croaked, "morning."

"So, is it okay if I... I mean, can I..."

There were many ways for him to finish that. 'Is it okay if I leave now? Can I go?' — those seemed to be the most likely contenders.

Hank wasn't about to let him ask, though. "I need to go take a piss," he blurted.

Before Connor could react he hurried out of bed, ignoring his abused limbs, only to realize he was buck naked. He snatched the duvet off the bed, which left Connor completely uncovered and naked, which was somehow even _worse_ — and also seemed like a real dick move — so he tossed it back.

He more or less ran to the bathroom, clad only in the blush he could feel burning on his skin. He slammed the door shut behind him and leaned back against it.

Damage control. He needed to do damage control.

First step was reviewing the facts.

Connor was acting nervous and uncertain, which had to stem from last night. The kissing, specifically, as that was the new factor in the equation.

Now, the way Hank saw it, there could be two different reasons for it.

One, he could be bothered by Hank breaking their rule despite knowing Connor was in love with someone. If that was the case, then Connor was probably feeling both pity and guilt, and was trying to think of a way to let Hank down gently. And regardless how that rejection panned out, it _would_ be a rejection — their arrangement would be over and done with.

Or two, Connor could be upset that Hank had taken advantage of him when he was emotionally vulnerable. First Andrew, then Melissa — Connor had been put through the wringer, and Hank hadn't properly considered how all of that had affected him. He'd just let his emotions take control, like the fool he was.

Or maybe it could be a mix of both options, or a third that he failed to see. But the solution for all, the only possible way to salvage things, was the same.

Lie, lie, lie.

Yeah, that was his best bet. Course of action decided upon, Hank grabbed some clothes from the hamper. They were dirty, but he was in desperate need of a shower anyway, so it made no difference.

Thus ready, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

Connor had gotten dressed too. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and petting Sumo. He stood up when he saw Hank. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yup," Hank said. He walked right up to Connor and leaned in, planting a casual and chaste kiss on his lips. "By the way," he continued, "in case you're wondering. I just figured you were right, back when you said that kissing was a really important component. Seemed kinda silly and stupid not to teach you the most basic of the basics, right?"

Connor bent down to pick up his socks. He appeared to be exceedingly calm. "Yeah," he said, "I figured as much. Deep down I probably knew that was why."

Oh. Right, of course. Because otherwise he wouldn't have let Hank kiss him in the first place.

"What would you like for breakfast? Pancakes okay?"

It felt like they were actors in a play, and neither of them were doing what they were supposed to. Connor delivered his lines with a total lack of emotion, and Hank — who was the one meant to be dispassionate and collected — was ready to tear the script to pieces.

He wanted to grab Connor by the shoulders and shake him, just to get some sort of reaction out of him. It was ironic, because all of this had started when Hank had tried to seek out a willing lay in an attempt to disconnect, and now Connor had turned the tables.

The desperate way he'd kissed Hank last night had been nothing more than a distraction from reality for him. And Hank, stupid and pathetic Hank, wanted more.

Wanted everything. Wanted to kiss Connor and beg him to forget about Allen or whoever, wanted to beg him to give Hank a chance instead. He'd do anything to make Connor happy.

But that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? He really would do anything to make Connor happy, even swallowing those things he longed to say and sticking to the script.

Connor loved someone else. Hank would support him and root for it to work out, because that was what Connor truly wanted. That was what would make him happy.

"I can make something else if you don't want pancakes," Connor said.

Hank blinked. "I'm not hungry. I'll grab something at the station later."

Connor frowned, lips pressed together in a dissatisfied pout. "Not donuts and coffee. That doesn't qualify as breakfast, Hank."

He felt like laughing. _That_ was what got Connor to show some emotion? Unfuckingbelievable.

"Let me just clean up before we go," he said, ignoring Connor's comment. He turned around and headed back into the bathroom.

He showered quickly, taking no joy in washing away the remnants of their lovemaking. At least the aches lingered. That was nice.

He glanced at the mirror when he was done, and promptly froze. As it turned out the aches weren't the only things that had remained. "Jesus Christ," he groaned.

A neon sign around his neck with the words 'I got laid!' would be less obvious than the hickeys covering his throat. And fuck, there were even a couple of actual bitemarks.

He stalked into the bedroom and rummaged through the pile of folded sweaters in his closet. He found the black turtleneck at the very bottom — it had been a birthday present from Melissa, way back when.

She'd always tried to get him to dress better, and Hank had always just smiled, thanked her, and then proceeded to shove the article of clothing into some corner where it never saw the light of day again.

But he was suddenly very grateful for this one. He put it on and checked his reflection again, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that it covered all of the marks. It was a little tight on him, but that was preferable to leaving his throat out on display.

He heard the front door open, Connor and Sumo coming back from their morning walk. He left the bathroom and went to join them.

Connor was crouching down in front of Sumo, toweling of his paws and getting rid of the clumps of snow that had stuck to them. He glanced up at Hank and stiffened. "What's that?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The sweater." Sumo raised his paw, trying in vain to get Connor's attention.

"Maybe you didn't notice," Hank said, raising an eyebrow, "but my throat was really fucking colorful."

"I noticed," Connor replied, voice flat. Sumo gave up and went forward, leaving wet paw prints in his wake.

Hank sighed. "Why ask if you noticed? Look, it's fine. I'm not mad or anything. I get it. Heat of the moment, and all."

Connor slowly stood up. He dropped the towel on the ground and walked over to stand in front of Hank. "It wasn't."

"Huh?"

"Heat of the moment. It wasn't that at all." Connor said it like a challenge, chin defiantly lifted.

That stung, but the knowledge that Connor must've wanted it to stung even more. Part of him was ready to buy it; to take Connor's word for it, and believe that he hadn't really been into it last night at all.

But Hank _knew_ , deep down, that it was bullshit. The way Connor had kissed him, and touched him, and — no way he'd faked it.

So why was he claiming otherwise?

Hank looked at him searchingly. Defiance, yes — but also an underlying sense of nervousness, like the one he'd shown directly after Hank had woken up.

Maybe he was just a bit unnerved by the whole thing? He wasn't used to losing control like that, so it made sense that he didn't want to admit it. Shit, Hank should've realized how scary it all had to be for someone experiencing it for the first time.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to pull Connor in for a hug, "it's okay. Everybody loses control once in a while. It's nothing bad, Connor. I promise. That's just what being human is like."

Connor's body was rigid. "That's not..." he began, only to trail off and relax into Hank's embrace.

"You have to tell me if I'm moving too quickly, yeah? I lose control too, you know. And when that happens I fail to consider what it must be like for you. I'm sorry."

He felt Connor shaking his head and decided to take that as a sign he was forgiven.

\----

Despite their little heart-to-heart Connor continued to be in low spirits.

Hank hated seeing it, but didn't know how to make things better. He was half debating throwing a pen at Gavin in the hopes of drawing a genuine smile from Connor when Janet walked in.

On one hand he was glad to see her — he'd really broken protocol yesterday by just letting her take off, without even getting her address. Jeffrey would've torn him a new one if she hadn't shown up.

But on the other hand, it was bound to make Connor feel even worse. Wasn't as if Hank could send him off to the break room for a coffee while he took her statement, either.

Janet spotted them and smiled hesitantly. Hank waved her over, taking careful stock of Connor's reaction. He showed a perfectly composed front, pulling out a chair for her to sit on and everything.

"Thanks for coming," Hank said.

"Of course. You don't have to thank me."

"A lot of people wouldn't have come, actually. So the thanks stands."

He glanced at Connor — he'd frozen in place, looking completely zoned out, LED yellow. Shit. "Connor, are you alright?" He got to his feet, taking a step closer when Connor's eyes suddenly focused on him.

"Markus is calling me," he said. "I'll be right back."

Oh. Just been a phone call — damn, he'd never get used to that. He sat back down again and gave Janet an apologetic smile. "Okay, how about we write your statement?"

She nodded in agreement and he turned to his terminal. "So I just go through the events chronologically, correct?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's gist of it."

"I was walking home when a movement on top of a building caught my eye. At first I thought it might be a bird, but..."

"Whoa, wait, wait. Not so fast." He kept typing, trying to catch up, when a giggle made him look up. "What's so funny?"

"Sorry," Janet said, "it's just — well, the way you type."

"What about it?"

Janet raised her hands, making loose fists and then extending the forefingers. "The hunt-and-peck method," she clarified. "It's cute."

"Uh, right. I don't know if I should be offended or flattered," he said, chuckling.

"I could type it, if you don't mind? I used to work as a file clerk before, so it's one of my specialties."

Normally he'd say no, but if they could finish up before Connor returned then that'd be ideal. "Sure, I'd really appreciate that."

He got up from his chair and gestured for her to sit down. She did, fingers immediately flying over the keyboard. She completed her statement within a matter of minutes. "There," she said. "You should read over it to make sure it's fine, naturally."

Hank nodded. "Thanks again for coming in."

She looked around, seemingly hesitant. "Say, your partner..."

"Yes? What about him?"

"Well, the service for Andrew is later tonight."

"Already?" Hank asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"I think the city makes a point to handle it quickly if no one steps in to make their own arrangements. It's apparently just a small service, but anyone is welcome to attend."

"I see," Hank mumbled. He had a bad feeling he knew exactly why she had asked about Connor.

"I was thinking of going, and I thought maybe your partner would be interested."

Yeah, there it was. Connor probably _would_ offer to accompany her if she asked. He really had no right to meddle, but — Connor had never been to a funeral before. Hank had; had seen his fair share and then some. He knew damn well how funerals wrecked you, and if you were already feeling bad beforehand...

"Look," he said, "I'd consider it a personal favor if you didn't ask him."

A look of surprise crossed Janet's features. After a moment it softened into understanding, and something akin to wonder. "You really care about him, don't you?"

It'd be easy to spout some bullshit about merely looking out for his partner's wellbeing, but that didn't even begin to cover it. "Yeah," he said instead, sincere and simple, "I really do."

Janet nodded slowly. "I was afraid when he caught up to me in that alley. But I thought it might still turn out okay since he was an android. Then you showed up, and all hope I'd felt plummeted."

Hank grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"No, what I'm trying to say is that I was wrong. I shouldn't judge all humans based on my own bad experiences. So I'd like to thank you for showing me that, Lieutenant Anderson."

A long-forgotten swell of pride rendered him momentarily speechless. Janet had already turned to leave when he finally snapped out of it. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and thrust it at her. "Write down the address and the time, please."

He had several reasons for asking. For starters, it was just the right thing to do. Andrew deserved having people attend his funeral, and Janet deserved to have someone be there with her.

And then there was Connor. Hank had no doubt that he'd start thinking about the funeral once he got out of his slump. If that happened tomorrow, and he then found out he'd already missed it, he'd feel guilty as hell. Knowing that at least Hank had been there might ease some of that guilt.

That didn't mean he wouldn't be pissed at Hank for keeping it from him, though. Rightfully so, but it'd be worth it if he could shield Connor from that experience for just a little while longer.

Janet handed back the pen and the pad of paper. He ripped off the top sheet and put it in his pocket. "I'll see you there," he said, smiling.

"That's — thank you, yes, that'd be great."

She almost walked straight into Connor as she left. He seemed a bit surprised to see her leaving so soon, and hurried back to their desks. "Did she already finish her statement?" he asked.

"Mhm, all done."

"Either that was the world's shortest statement, or she typed it for you."

"Fuck, are you gonna make fun of my hunt-and-peck method too? I can only take so much."

Connor gave him a little smile, fond and warm. "I'd never make fun of that. It's an endearing quality."

Well, shit. Pretty much the same compliment as the one Janet had given, but it sure made him feel completely different. Made him feel like pulling Connor into the nearest supply closet and kissing him, to see if that smile tasted just as sweet as it looked.

"Everything okay with Markus?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, everything is fine. He just wanted to invite me to the inauguration of the new hospital wing today. The one specializing in androids."

"Ah, got it. Do you need to leave early, then?"

"No, I'm not going."

"Why not? You should go, c'mon." A change of scene might be just what Connor needed. And honestly, he damn well deserved some accolades for everything he'd done. If he hadn't brought all those androids from CyberLife Markus' demonstration would probably have failed.

"It's fine. I'll see it sooner or later anyway." His tone of voice was firm, brooking no argument.

"Alright, if that's how you want it."

"It is."

Hank forced a laugh. "Kinda funny, though. If it isn't Allen then it's Markus — everyone wants you."

"Not everyone," Connor said, so quietly that Hank wasn't even sure he'd heard right.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Excuse me, I'll be right back."

Hank stared after him as he turned right around and walked off, taking a sharp right. Going outside? The hell was he going to do outside? Get some fresh air that he didn't actually need to breathe?

"Fucking _think_ ," he hissed at himself. Connor was really down in the dumps, and everything Hank did seemed to be making things worse. He needed a surefire way to cheer Connor up, something even he couldn't manage to fuck up.

The idea, when it hit, was so utterly perfect that he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. He reached for his phone, crossing his fingers that it'd be doable.

\----

"Remember what I said. No peeking."

"Got it. No scanning and no analyzing." Connor sounded apprehensive, but at least he was going along with it.

It hadn't even been that hard to convince him, when Hank had first explained he had a surprise for him after work. He wouldn't have given up until he got Connor to come, but it was nice that all it'd taken was a simple 'please'.

Hank raised his hand and knocked on the door to Eddie's house. He opened quickly — no one was with him, so he was adhering to Hank's request.

Hank grinned at him. "Hi, Eddie. Long time no see."

Eddie shook his hand with gusto. "I was really glad to get your call. This is Connor, I take it."

Connor extended his hand. "Hello," he said, as they shook hands. "Nice to meet you."

"This is Eddie," Hank said. "We went to school together, back in the day."

"Come on in," Eddie said, stepping aside. "Let's head straight for the living room, shall we? We can't keep them waiting for too long."

Connor leaned in close as they walked. "They?" he whispered.

"You'll see," Hank assured him, grinning.

They reached the living room and Hank turned to Connor. "Sit on the floor," he said.

"What? Why?"

"Trust me."

He'd expected to have to wheedle quite a bit more to get Connor to sit, but no. Those two words were apparently all it took. He just nodded and sat down.

"Okay, ready?" Eddie said, moving to the closed door of the study and knocking on it. "Wake up, guys. Got a new friend for you to meet."

He pulled open the door, and out shot six fluffy Saint Bernard puppies. Or, well, shot wasn't really the right word; more like waddled.

They headed straight for the only person on their level. Connor was soon overrun by puppies, licking and chewing and climbing on him. The look on his face was everything Hank could've hoped for and more.

He looked truly happy, and seeing that made Hank's heart glad.

"Eddie here breeds Saint Bernards," he explained. "This is where I got Sumo from."

Connor's head snapped up, excited. "They're related to Sumo?"

"Yes," Eddie answered. "Their sire is Sumo's younger brother. So they're his nieces and nephews."

Connor laughed as one of them got a good grip on his fingers. "They have such sharp teeth!"

Hank grinned. "Puppy teeth are worse than knives, so watch your back."

"Want some coffee?" Eddie asked.

No, Hank didn't want any coffee. He just wanted to remain where he was and look his fill. That was borderline stalkerish of him though, so he gave Eddie a nod and followed him out to the kitchen.

"So," Eddie said as he handed Hank a mug, "you said on the phone that he was your partner. But there's more to it than that, no?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, please. We've known each other for ages. Remember that double date we had with the twins?"

"Judy and Joni, yeah, I remember."

"Ah, Judy... I thought she was the hottest chick ever."

Hank snorted. "And that was the problem. Judy was _my_ date. That night was a fucking disaster."

Eddie clicked his tongue. "It's called nostalgia, pal. Don't ruin it for me."

"Whatever. Did you have a point or what?"

"Oh. I just meant that I know you. You love dogs, sure, but I highly doubt that besotted look you had in there was for the pups.

Hank grimaced. "You always had an active imagination."

"Okay, then what about that classy turtleneck? Your fashion sense has always been nonexistent, and that is so not something you'd normally wear. You're wearing it because of him, right?"

Hank couldn't quell a smirk. Eddie was technically right, just not in the way he thought. "Alright, fine. But it's not like that, we're not..." he trailed off, sighing. "Just don't say anything to him, okay?"

"Damn," Eddie said, looking sad. "I didn't realize, sorry. I just thought you seemed happy again, and I was really thrilled for your sake."

"Forget it," Hank mumbled. He moved to the door and pushed it open slightly, giving him a view of Connor. He pulled up his phone, intent on taking a photo or two.

"That's a bit creepy though," Eddie remarked.

"Shut up," Hank replied, attempting to figure out how to get to the camera mode. "Fucking phone."

Eddie came over and swiped around a bit. "There," he said. "You owe me one."

"Yeah, yeah." Hank had time to take one picture, then two adult Saint Bernards came trotting into the living room.

"I should make sure they don't get worried — they're good with strangers, but you never know."

They went to join Connor. "Are these the proud parents?" he asked. He was petting both of them.

"Yes," Eddie said, "that's them. Come here, guys. Let's feed you while your kids are busy."

They walked off and Hank turned his attention to Connor. Most of the pups had settled down, and one of them had even fallen asleep in Connor's lap.

"Hank," he said, voice low, "feel how soft her fur is."

Hank crouched down and stroked the sleeping puppy. He smiled as he felt her little warm body beneath his hand. "Yeah, so soft."

Connor didn't reply, prompting him to glance up. He was watching Hank, gaze tender. "Thank you," he whispered.

"It's — it's nothing."

"It's everything," Connor said, leaning forward to capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

He responded willingly, forgetting both time and place. Thankfully Connor didn't, though. He broke the kiss, mouthing a silent "Eddie" just as Eddie reentered the room.

Hank hurriedly stood back up. "Right," he said, "we really should be going now." It was forty minutes till the funeral started, and he had to drop off Connor and swing by the house to let Sumo out. He'd be really pressed for time if he needed to change clothes as well, but his current outfit would have to do.

Connor carefully lifted the sleeping pup off his lap, placing her next to her siblings. He stood up and nodded at Eddie. "Thank you for letting me meet your dogs."

"You're welcome," Eddie replied. "Don't be a stranger, now. You're welcome whenever, both of you."

"Thanks," Hank said. "It was nice seeing you again."

"It's been too long since your last visit. You used to come every time I had a new litter, because Cole always wanted to see the puppies." Eddie's mouth closed with an audible snap. The room grew very silent.

Connor moved closer to him, close enough that their shoulders bumped together. It was a supportive contact, warm and steady, and Hank loved Connor for it.

"Sorry," Eddie said.

"It's okay," Hank replied, surprising himself when realizing that it was the truth. He _was_ okay. It hurt, of course, and it always would — but the memory also made him happy. He remembered Cole's joy and excitement over the pups, and remembered how he — without fail — always had reassured Sumo when they'd returned home. 'You're the best dog,' he'd said. 'And the cutest, promise.'

It felt good to be able to think about Cole without wanting to drink himself into oblivion, or load a single bullet into his gun. Really good. He pressed his shoulder more firmly against Connor's, and let his fingers brush against his hand.

"It's okay," he repeated, smiling. "Bye, Eddie."

They walked out to the parking lot in silence. Not a bad silence, but a companionable one; comfortable and peaceful. When they reached the car he pulled Connor in for a hug, enjoying the feel of having him in his arms.

He really wished they had more time. "C'mon," he finally said, "let's get you home."

"Yeah," Connor agreed, but he, too, lingered. He reached up to tuck some of Hank's hair behind his ear, smiling softly as his fingers trailed down to his neck. They dipped underneath the collar of the turtleneck, unerringly finding one of the bitemarks judging by the tiny twinge of pain.

Things were starting to get dangerous — a little more and he might be tempted to just take Connor home and make love with him.

Perhaps Connor picked up on that, for he suddenly cleared his throat and stepped away. "Let's go," he said.

It was a short drive to Connor's apartment, but just long enough for Hank's brain to sputter to life and point out that Connor was undoubtedly going to invite him in.

Shit, he'd have to say no. He needed an excuse — headache? Fuck, no, that was the world's biggest cliché. He was still frantically trying to come up with something when they arrived.

"Thank you again for today," Connor said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hank stared. "Uh," he managed, eloquent as ever.

"Bye for now, Hank."

"Yeah, bye."

Connor gave him one final smile, and then he got out of the car. Hank sat and watched him disappear into the building. He should be relieved, but that was a far cry from how he felt.

He gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath. He could mope about this later. For now he needed to get his ass in gear.

\----

Sumo had taken forever to do his business, but Hank still had a few minutes to spare when he pulled into the adjacent parking lot.

Janet stood by the building entrance, waving when she spotted him. He quickly walked over to her. "Have you waited long?"

"Not at all. I got here a couple of minutes ago."

"Okay, good." He glanced up at the towering building. It wasn't quite what he'd expected — he'd thought it would be small and maybe a bit secluded, but it looked like any other building on the street.

Well, no point in just standing around staring at it. "Ready to go inside?" he asked.

Janet nodded. "Yes. I don't know if I would've been had I been here alone, though. Thank you for coming, Lieutenant Anderson."

"No need to thank me. And just call me Hank, please."

"Hank...?"

He started at hearing his name coming from behind him. He turned, already knowing what he'd see — he'd know that voice anywhere, anytime.

Connor was getting out of a taxi on the other side of the road. His eyes were wide, looking just as surprised as Hank felt.

"I didn't tell him, I swear," Janet whispered as Connor crossed over to them.

"I know, don't worry."

"I'll wait inside." She entered the building, leaving Hank and Connor standing on the sidewalk.

"What are you doing here?" Connor asked.

"That's _my_ line. What the hell are you doing, Connor?"

"I'm going to attend Andrew's funeral service."

"No shit, I fucking get that," Hank snapped. "But why are you here alone? Why didn't you tell me about it so I could come along?"

Connor looked away, hesitating. The falling snow was slowly turning his hair white. "It's a funeral," he said quietly. "I didn't want you to feel bad."

Hank didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Jesus Christ, so they'd both been thinking the exact same thing and had pulled the same stupid stunt. They were such fucking idiots.

"What about you?" Connor said. He glanced up at Hank and then immediately lowered his gaze again. "Why are you here with Janet?" His voice was very small, and he looked so uncertain that it broke Hank's heart.

"She wanted to ask you to come, but I told her not to." He gave Connor a sheepish smile when he looked up. "For the same reason as you. I didn't want you to feel bad."

"Hank..."

"I know I owe you an apology. It's messed up of me to make decisions on your behalf, and I'm sorry. I just wanted..." Hank cut himself off. 'I just wanted to protect you because I love you.' Not something he should be admitting to, no. "I'm sorry," he finished instead.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You had the best of intentions."

Hank frowned. "Good intentions or not, that's beside the point. I didn't have the right to make that call, and I understand if you're mad about it."

"I'm not, though." He tilted his head to the side, dislodging some snowflakes in the process, and looked searchingly at Hank. "Did you _want_ me to be mad?"

"No, of course not. It's just — you shouldn't think so highly of me. Like at Eddie's place, I asked you to sit on the fucking floor and you just did it, no questions asked."

Fuck, what was he doing? He'd been happy when Connor had trusted him enough to just do as requested, yet now here he was, giving Connor shit about it? This really wasn't the time to start a fight either, but the words just came tumbling out of his mouth.

"I trust you with my life, Hank. Sitting down in a perfectly safe environment was hardly a leap of faith."

"You don't get it," Hank muttered.

Connor's lips pressed together. "I do get it," he said, voice serious and hard. "I get that your sense of self-worth is so eroded that you believe you don't even deserve to have someone trust in you. I get that you're scared to put yourself out there, to let someone l-like you, but Hank, you're the bravest man I know. I wish..." he faltered, LED briefly flashing red before settling back to yellow. "I wish I could be as brave as you are."

"Connor..." He didn't know what to say. Didn't even know how to _feel_. He took a couple of unsteady steps forward until he stood right in front of Connor.

Hank gently touched his hand, growing bolder when he didn't pull away. He took hold of Connor's hand and laced their fingers together. They stood like that for a while, until his LED turned blue.

"Let's go inside before we miss the service," Hank murmured.

Connor nodded. They walked through the door together, still holding hands.

\----

Both Connor and Janet seemed more at ease afterwards. Hank could only hope it had brought them some closure.

Janet bid the two of them farewell, and they slowly started walking to the car. Hank was trying to decide whether to offer to drive Connor to his apartment, or ask if he felt like coming over.

The latter was what he _wanted_ to ask, but they'd already spent the entire day together. He didn't want to push it.

...And Connor had called him brave. What a fucking joke.

"So," Connor began, only for his voice to be overpowered by the rumbling of Hank's stomach. "Wait, you haven't eaten dinner, have you? We went to see the puppies directly after work, and then you probably only had time to let Sumo out before coming here."

"Nice deductive skills," Hank said, laughing softly. "It's fine. I'm not that hungry.

Connor gave him an exasperated look. "Right, so there's something wrong with my audio processor then. Good to know."

Hank rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna starve to death anytime soon, that's all I'm saying."

"I'll cook something for you."

"Like hell you will. Not tonight. I'm just gonna order a pizza."

Stupid, stupid. If he'd just said yes Connor would've come home with him. But it wouldn't have felt right to have him slaving in the kitchen for Hank's sake after the rough day he'd had.

"Besides," Hank added, "the guys at the DPD are probably wondering what's happened to me."

"The what?"

"Detroit Pizza Deli."

"Oh, right. The DPD. Funny name," Connor said drily.

"I know, right?" Hank said, ignoring his obvious sarcasm. "Anyway, I used to order from them multiple times a week, but lately I haven't at all."

"Good," Connor muttered. "Those things are really bad for you."

All things considered he should be annoyed by Connor's constant nagging about his dietary habits. But he wasn't. The knowledge that Connor cared that deeply about him just filled him with warmth.

Even that first time at Chicken Feed, when Connor had earnestly warned him about his burger, had made him feel that way. He'd felt a spark of something, some part of him that he'd thought long gone. He'd pushed it aside then, had told himself it was just Connor's programming; nothing personal. Then, mere moments later at the urban farm, Connor had chosen to save his life over accomplishing his mission, and it'd gotten a lot harder to convince himself that it meant nothing.

Each subsequent day had shown him the truth. And so he couldn't be annoyed when it was simply proof of the way Connor felt. He cared.

Hank smiled fondly at Connor and shrugged. "I know they're bad for me. But a pizza with all the toppings is what I'm having. Period. Real sorry, darling," he added teasingly.

He'd meant the pet name as a gentle dig at the way Connor was acting like they were married, but Connor answered by smiling. A bit shy and hesitant, but still utterly gorgeous. "Alright," he said. "Do you want company?"

"Yeah," he answered, moving closer. "I'd love company." He brushed the snow from Connor's hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Let's get in the car before we turn into snowmen. Want to drive?"

"Mm, sure."

Hank handed over the keys, and off they went.

"Speaking of snowmen," he said when they were almost home, "that's something you've never done, right? Build a snowman, I mean."

"Right. Why?"

"We should do that, then. You gotta try it at least once!"

"If you say so," Connor replied, smiling softly. "I'll look forward to it."

"We just have to get some supplies first, like a carrot for the nose and such."

"Got it. I'll pick it up next time I'm at the store," he said as he pulled up on the driveway.

Hank headed for the bedroom as soon as they got inside. He couldn't wait to get out of the stuffy turtleneck. "Hey, do me a favor," he called over his shoulder. "Call the DPD and order. Just say it's for me and that I want the usual. They'll know."

"You really shouldn't sound so proud over that fact."

"Bullshit. You know it's cool." He ducked into the bedroom and thereby terminated the discussion, getting the last word.

He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, then went to the bathroom and washed up before changing. Connor had set the table by the time he went back out.

He smiled when seeing Hank. "Hi," he said.

"Yeah, hi again," Hank answered, chuckling. "What, did you miss me?"

He got his answer to that question in a kiss that left him panting and lightheaded. He tried to move in for a second one but Connor pulled away. "The door," he said.

"Huh?"

"Your pizza," he clarified at the same time the doorbell rang.

"Shit," Hank swore, grabbing his wallet and heading for the door.

"Yo, Hank."

"Hey there, Tony. How you doing?"

"All good," he said, handing over the pizza carton. He let out a low whistle, raising his eyebrows. "Damn, man. Someone really wanted to lay claim to their territory, huh?"

It took Hank a few seconds to get it. Fucking hell, the T-shirt would be showing off all the marks on his throat. "No comment," he ground out.

Tony snickered. "Way to go, old man."

"You really shouldn't call me that if you want a tip," Hank said darkly, but he still handed over a few extra bills.

"Aye aye, sir!"

Hank flicked him off and pulled the door shut. He walked back to the kitchen, where Connor was sitting with a wide smirk on his face.

"It's not _that_ funny, you know."

Connor regarded him silently for a moment. Then, "I'm not smiling because I thought it was funny."

"Right," Hank drawled, "I bet."

He sat down to eat, enjoying Connor's company — even though his oddly pleased grin never wavered.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to check out [the lovely fanart](https://twitter.com/soyouz_trashcan/status/1036564193418379265) by madeofplasma, depicting a scene from the second chapter!

"Just come on in," Hank called when he heard the knock on the door. He didn't bother looking up, focus remaining on the rocks he'd neatly organized into little piles on the kitchen table.

He had a decent group of medium-sized black rocks that would work for the mouth, but the eyes were harder. He had three different pairs he was trying to decide between.

Connor came up beside him "What are you doing?"

"I picked up some rocks while walking Sumo. Those are our options for the eyes," he said, pointing. "Which ones do you like best?"

"These," Connor replied instantly, picking up one of the pairs. "They have a tinge of blue to them."

They just looked gray to Hank, but whatever. "Alright, then we're going with those. Did you remember the carrot?"

"Of course. It's in the grocery bag by the door."

"Good. And hey, speaking of the door, you really don't have to knock. Especially when we've made plans. Actually, wait," he said, stepping over to the drawers. He pulled one out and rummaged through the miscellaneous junk in it, until he found what he was searching for. He tossed it to Connor. "Here, a spare key."

Connor looked at him, eyes wide. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're a hell of a lot more than just a guest." Well, shit. That was a bit too revealing. He quickly chuckled to cover it, and added, "Truth be told, I'm mainly trying to protect my poor windows."

"Ah, right," Connor said, smiling slightly. He hesitated for a moment, then he put his hand in his pocked and took something out. "I don't have any such concerns, but all the same — here you go."

The object glinted in the light as Connor threw it. Hank caught it by reflex and looked down at it. It was a key. "To your apartment?"

"Yes."

Hank nodded slowly. "And you just randomly happened to have the spare key to your apartment in your pocket?"

Connor opened his mouth and then closed it again. He shrugged instead, apparently forgoing words.

"How long have you been carrying this around?" Hank asked, not willing to drop the subject just yet.

"I..."

"Truthfully."

"Since the day I moved in," Connor mumbled. "I wanted you to have it, but it just never seemed like the right time. I didn't know what to say."

Hank closed his hand around the key, squeezing it tightly. "I'm glad you gave it to me now. Thanks, Connor."

"Thanks yourself," he said, smiling. His eyes had that beautiful warm glow to them again.

"Anyway," Hank blurted, "we need to get cracking before the sun sets."

He grabbed the rocks and headed for the door. Connor followed, which prompted him to finally take notice of what he was wearing. "Wait, where are the rest of your clothes?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, glancing down at himself.

"For fuck's sake! What was the last thing I said to you when we split up at work?"

"'Bye for now.'"

"Smartass. _Before_ that. What exactly did I say to you?"

Connor rolled his eyes. "You said, exactly: 'Go home and change, and buy a carrot on the way over. I'll walk Sumo in the meantime.'"

"Yeah, there we have it. I told you to change."

"But I did. I was wearing a suit at work, don't you remember?" He gestured down at the sweater he now wore.

"I didn't mean just change period. I meant change into suitable clothes."

Connor raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize there was a dress code for building snowmen."

"Wow, you're a real comedian today, aren't you?" Hank made a face, just barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out. "I'm laughing on the inside, I assure you."

"What did you want me to wear, then?"

"Fucking gloves, for starters! Who in their right mind builds snowmen without wearing gloves? This is pretty obvious stuff, come on."

"You know what else is pretty obvious? The fact that the cold doesn't bother me. I might even have said so to you a time or two, or maybe it was more like ten."

"I don't give a shit what you claim! You're not a Russian android; your biocomponents will break down if you get too cold." Hank had read up on it, and knew damn well what Connor could and couldn't do. He really needed to take better care of himself and be more careful, instead of stubbornly acting like it was no big deal.

"In extreme, sub-zero conditions, yes! This really doesn't qualify."

Sumo pushed himself between them, letting out a couple of low barks. "It's okay," Hank said, absently petting him. "We're not actually fighting."

He stiffened as he recognized the behavior. Sumo had done the same thing when he and Melissa had gone at it, before the divorce. Bodily inserting himself between them and trying to diffuse the situation — a sweet dog trying to keep the peace among his pack members.

The fact that he was doing it now only went to show that he considered Connor to be part of their little pack. Sumo, Connor, and Hank. _Family._

Connor crouched down to better pet Sumo. "Sorry," he said, "we didn't mean to scare you. We really weren't fighting."

Sumo licked his face, tailing wagging at the speed of light. Fuck, but Sumo would be heartbroken when Connor moved on and stopped spending so much time with them.

"I'm gonna go find you some gloves," he mumbled, and fled into the bedroom.

Sumo came trotting in after a little while.

"I'm sorry," Hank whispered to him, "but you got it all wrong. He won't be sticking around. I wish, but it's better to be realistic. It'll hurt less in the end."

Sumo stared at him before breaking into a huge yawn.

Hank snorted. "Yeah, you got me. That was total bullshit."

It was going to hurt like hell no matter what.

He grabbed a couple of gloves from the closet, along with a scarf. He'd bought it last winter, because its yellow and black stripes had reminded him of the tape they'd used to cordon off crime scenes back in the day. He'd been drunk at the time, and in the sober and harsh light of morning it hadn't seemed all that funny anymore.

It would suit Connor though, and serve as a reminder to himself that there were still lines he couldn't cross. 'Keep your mouth shut, he's not truly yours. You're on borrowed time.' Something like that.

He snickered at his own joke. Sumo sent him another look, easily recognizing his second attempt at bullshit for what it truly was.

Connor was still waiting by the door. He immediately frowned when he saw the scarf. "I really don't need that," he began, and Hank hurriedly looped it around his neck. It was even long enough for him to wrap around Connor's mouth and nose, for maximum warmth.

"Hank..."

It was probably meant as a warning, but it came out so muffled and distorted that it could only inspire laughter. "What's that?" he said. "I can't hear you, sorry." He leaned forward and gave Connor a peck on the mouth — or the scarf covering his mouth, rather.

Connor said something else. He seemed to be muttering it to begin with, and the scarf didn't precisely make it clearer. But it sounded almost as if he said, 'You're lucky I love you.'

Heart thudding painfully, Hank pulled down the scarf. "What did you say?"

"You're lucky that I like you."

Oh. It'd been close, at least. Close, and yet so far. "Yeah," he said quietly, "lucky me."

He handed the gloves to Connor and stepped outside. The cold air was nice and helped clear his head. He didn't even have to fake a smile when he turned to Connor; it came quite natural when seeing him in that ridiculous scarf and wearing gloves that were way too big for him.

"Alright! Let's get started," he said.

Together they rolled the parts of the snowman's body and assembled them. Sumo participated in his own way, which meant they had to rebuild quite a bit.

He thankfully got bored after a while and settled down by the small pile of branches that they'd pulled together. Connor quickly rescued two of them before Sumo could chew them to pieces, so that their snowman wouldn't be left armless.

Hank took on the responsibility of giving their creation a big happy smile, and left Connor in charge of the rest. He carefully placed the eyes and the nose, and then handed one of the branches to Hank so that they each put an arm in place.

Hank stepped back and surveyed their work. "Looks pretty good, I think. What do you say?"

"Mm," Connor hummed. "I think he should have a beard."

He went over to Sumo and bent down, grabbing a handful of wood splinters and pieces of bark that Sumo had chewed up and spat out. He then stuck the mess to the snowman's lower face.

"There," he said, giving it a satisfied nod. "Looks more like you now."

"Gee, thanks a lot," Hank drawled. "What about his hair, then?"

"Nah, it's fine. Besides," Connor added, turning to Hank with a wicked little smirk, "nothing wrong with not having hair. I'd feel the exact same way about you even if you were bald."

"You know, that sounds more like a curse than anything else. I'm gonna blame you if my hair suddenly starts to fall out."

Connor focused on the snowman again, sticking the carrot a little deeper in as it had started to droop. "I calculate a 6% probability of you going bald, so I don't think you need to worry."

Hank grunted in reply. He crouched down and scooped up some snow, squeezing it into a ball. "Aside from building snowmen, there's one other wintery tradition that I feel it is my duty to introduce you to."

He threw the snowball, intending to hit the back of Connor's head. Unfortunately, he chose that exact moment to turn around. The snowball hit him square in the face.

"Oh, fuck," Hank said, unable to stop himself from laughing. "I'm sorry."

Connor slowly wiped away the snow. A few clumps remained in his eyebrows and inside his left ear, a sight that only served to make Hank laugh harder. "Maybe I'm wrong," Connor said, "but I think an apology doesn't quite come across as sincere when it's delivered while laughing."

Hank wheezed. "Right, right. My bad." He started making another snowball. "But, on the other hand, you really should loosen up some."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Connor questioned, raising an eyebrow. The movement made some of the snow slide down the side of his face.

"Yup. Positive," Hank replied as he let the snowball fly.

Connor twisted his body slightly and angled his head, exerting minimal effort for the snowball to just go whizzing by him.

"Hey! No cheating!"

Connor bared his teeth in a predatory grin. "I warned you. You've seen me dodge bullets. Your snowballs are no match for me." He calmly began making snowballs of his own.

"Connor, wait..."

"You made your bed, Hank. Now you get to lie in it."

The first snowball hit him on the chest. He tried avoiding them and tried throwing some of his own, but all attempts failed miserably.

He had no choice but to make a full assault as a last-ditch effort. He rushed forward and tackled Connor into a pile of snow.

Connor blinked up at him. "You fight dirty."

"Maybe," Hank agreed, "but I still won. And to the victor goes the spoils." He tipped his head forward and pressed their lips together. Connor's arms came up around him as he eagerly responded to the kiss.

Hank felt warm, despite the fact that they were lying in the snow. Well, _he_ was technically lying on Connor, whose body was radiating warmth.

"Did you just raise your temperature?"

"Yes," Connor said. "Didn't want you to freeze."

"Oh," he breathed. Connor was always so thoughtful and caring — it'd be frighteningly easy to let himself be swept away by that. To simply open his mouth and tell Connor how he felt.

"Hank? What's wrong?" Connor moved one of his hands to Hank's face, only to pull it away with a grimace. He shook his hand until the offending glove slipped off, and then reached up again to cup Hank's face.

Connor's thumb slowly stroked his cheek, touch so warm that it almost burned. Hank leaned into the contact and closed his eyes.

"Talk to me, please."

"There's nothing to say," Hank mumbled. He turned his head to nuzzle Connor's palm, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin. "I'm just happy."

"Yeah?" Connor whispered. "You don't look happy."

He forced himself to look down at Connor. His brown eyes were clear and steadfast. Hank could see himself reflected in their depths.

"Sometimes being happy hurts." It was true. It did hurt — because he knew that he'd soon lose it. Would lose his happiness and Connor both, so intrinsically linked that they were one and the same.

Connor opened his mouth to reply at the same second Hank's phone started ringing.

"Goddammit." He shoved a hand down his pocket and pulled the phone out, checking the display. "Fowler," he said, sighing.

He got to his feet and extended a hand towards Connor. He took it, and Hank pulled him up before answering. "What?" he snapped.

"You've got a case."

"Fucking hell, Jeffrey. I almost just got home!"

"It can't be helped. Someone found a dead android near The Fist. The body had been partly burned."

"Fuck..." Hank hissed. "Any witnesses?" It was a tourist spot, someone had to have seen something.

"None that have come forward so far, in any case. And I doubt anyone will," Jeffrey said. He sounded frustrated.

"Figures."

"You and Connor are the most qualified for it. I hope you can get in touch with him, because I haven't been able to."

"Uh, yeah, I think so."

"Good. I'll leave you to it, then."

"Yeah, thanks a lot," he said and hung up.

"We've been assigned a case, I take it?"

Hank met Connor's gaze and nodded. It was bad enough that their evening had been wrecked, but for it to be a case like this to boot...

"Human or android?" Connor asked.

"Android. Burned, but I don't know how badly."

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. "By the way, Jeffrey said he'd tried calling you."

"Oh. I disconnected that when I got here. Didn't want us to be disturbed."

If only Hank had been as smart.

"I guess we better get going," Connor said. He crossed his arms across his chest, corners of his mouth turned down.

"Yeah." He hesitated for a second, before adding, "You'll be okay?"

Connor gave him a small smile in return. "Yes. Let's go catch the bastards who did this."

That, Hank was all for.

\----

The smell of burned plastic hung in the air. Hank couldn't even tell if the victim was a model he recognized; the face was charred and ruined, impossible to identify.

Connor kneeled by the body. "It's bad," he said quietly, "but I think I can reactive him."

The thought of what they'd done to that poor girl at the Eden Club still filled him with regret. "No, don't. It's kinder to let him rest in peace."

Connor's eyes narrowed. "I know it is. But we have no clues, nothing to go on. The killers will get away with it unless he can give us something."

"Like hell they will. We'll comb the area and check out every CCTV feed and security camera around. We'll get them, I promise."

"That's not a promise you can make, Lieutenant. I'm sorry." He placed his hand on the android's abdomen. Hank looked away, gritting his teeth.

The victim came back to life with a gasp. "No, please," he said, voice staticky and distorted.

"It's okay, it's over now. Whoever hurt you is gone. But we don't have much time. I've reactivated you so that they can be brought to justice."

Hank forced himself to focus on them again, though he intentionally kept his distance. Seeing another human was the last thing the android needed right now.

"They came from behind. I never saw them, I just know there were three of them. Men. But please, that doesn't matter — I need you to help me."

Connor visibly flinched. "Forgive me, but I can't... I can't save you."

"I know. I need you to deliver a message for me. Please, find Gloria. I tried to call her after they left, but I only managed to get her name out before I shut down."

Hank saw Connor's hand start to move towards the victim's, probably about to initiate a memory probe to get Gloria's details. That was something Hank wanted to avoid at all costs. He stepped up to them and crouched down, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. "We'll find her for you, don't worry. Do you know her full name?" he asked.

"Gloria Katherine Chang. She called me David, and I was her boyfriend. She let me go after she saw Markus' speech on TV. She said she did it because she loved me, and because she knew that I wasn't with her out of my own free will."

"Then she really did love you," Hank said, trying to console him. He reached out to carefully grasp David's forearm.

"Yes, but I didn't understand. She wanted me to discover who I really was, and that made no sense to me. I just did as she instructed, a machine obeying its master, no matter how irrational the command was. And then I — I woke up. It took me a while, but I finally realized that I loved her too. I wanted to be with her. Please," he begged, voice fading, "tell her I was coming home."

"We will," Hank said. "I swear, we'll tell her."

"He's gone."

Yeah, Hank knew that. He still squeezed David's arm one last time, in a silent vow, before he stood back up.

"Are you able to find her address?"

Connor nodded as he got to his feet as well. "I got it already. It's an hour's drive from here."

"Alright. She's probably frantic already, so the sooner we get there the better. I'm pulling rank on this one; I'm calling in everyone who's available to go through the area and check all video feeds. We'll get the bastards, Connor. I _do_ promise you that."

Connor moved closer, fingers brushing against the back of his hand for a fleeting moment. "I believe you," he said.

\----

It never got any easier.

Informing people that someone they loved had been killed was one of the worst things about being a cop. Hank hated it, especially when it was as mindless and cruel as David's murder had been.

Gloria didn't take it well. They called her brother so that she wouldn't have to be alone, and waited till he arrived. Then it was back to the station, joining the rest in watching security footage.

It was Gavin, of all people, who got lucky. The feed from a drone showed three men leaving the area, one of which showed his face clearly enough to be identified.

Hank noticed Gavin getting up from his desk and dragging Chris with him. Fucking prick didn't even say anything, and just made the decision to take over on his own.

Hank was ready to strangle him by the time the two of them returned with the suspect. He approached them with that intent, but Chris covertly shook his head and gave the all-clear sign.

Gavin sneered at him as they went by. "This is my collar," he said. "So just sit back and watch how it's done."

That was kinda over the top, but Hank was willing to cut him some slack. Gavin was a decent cop when he wanted to be, and judging by the way the suspect was cringing away from him he'd managed to put a good deal of fear in the bastard already.

Chris hung back for a second. "Gavin made a point of talking loudly to me in the car, so that the perp heard he was the only one we've managed to identify. He knows that he'll take the fall all alone if he doesn't talk."

"Alright. Gonna play good cop, bad cop?" Gavin was perfect for the latter; his rotten personality meant he didn't even have to act.

"That's the plan. I think he'll spill."

And spill he did. They watched the interrogation from the other side of the mirror, ready to step in and take over. But it never came to that. The suspect claimed to have been dragged along by the other two, it wasn't his idea, he hadn't done anything except look on, yadda yadda. Nothing Hank hadn't heard a million times before.

The other two were brought in, and like their friend they didn't even request a lawyer before blaming the others. Not a big surprise there.

Connor's shoulders went from stiff and rigid to slumped. He looked beat. Hank, on the other hand, felt tense and jittery. He hadn't had the time to really think about the case, but now all those little nagging thoughts hit full force.

What if it'd been Connor? He could dodge bullets as easy as snowballs, yes, and he was a good fighter, but when attacked from behind without the slightest warning? That was a different story.

It made Hank feel sick.

"Come on," he ground out, "let's go."

"You sure it's okay for us to leave?" Connor sounded hopeful and guilty about it at the same time.

"Yeah, we've got this one in the bag. And I'm telling Jeffrey that we're taking the day off tomorrow," he added. "We need some downtime."

Connor didn't argue, which told him that he'd made the right call.

He drove back to his place without asking. That wasn't okay, he knew that — but the thought of splitting up was unbearable. He wanted Connor close, wanted to bring him home.

Thankfully Connor didn't seem to mind. He just quietly followed Hank to the door, and then kneeled down to hug Sumo as he enthusiastically welcomed them back. "I'll take him for a walk."

"I'll come with you," Hank said.

"No, it's okay. You're tired."

He was, but...

Connor's gaze softened. "Hey," he said. "We'll be fine, Hank. I promise. Nothing's gonna happen to us."

Hank swallowed. "That obvious, huh?"

"Sometimes, yeah. But I like that about you." He stepped in close, reaching up to tuck Hank's hair behind his ears. "I like it when you don't hide. When you let me in."

At this point there was only one thing he had left to hide. He bent his head and captured Connor's lips in a tender kiss, to avoid revealing it. He couldn't say those words if his mouth was busy.

"We'll be right back," Connor said when they pulled apart. "Don't worry, okay?"

"Okay." Who was he trying to kid, anyway? They'd be fine without him — _Connor_ would be fine. He didn't need Hank around to keep him safe.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Put yourself down like that."

He really was pathetically obvious. But it didn't matter, as long as it was about shit like this and not his feelings for Connor. "I'm not," he replied. "It's just the truth. I mean, you can dodge bullets — what the hell would you need me for?" He let out a low laugh, but it sounded unconvincing even to himself.

"I do need you. Without you, I..." he trailed off, jaw working for a second before he continued, seemingly changing tack. "Remember Stratford Tower? I got shot, and you saved me."

"That doesn't really count, come on." He tried to initiate another kiss to get Connor to drop it, but he resisted the attempt.

"Why wouldn't it count? But fine, it's not like there's a shortage of other examples. At Kamski's place, after his test, I was completely lost. I couldn't even move, despite wanting nothing more than to get out of there. You put yourself between us and pulled me away; you protected me when I needed it the most. And then you smiled at me. I was falling apart, but Hank, that smile — it made me feel like everything would be okay. Just as long as you were with me."

Hank swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. It remained firmly in place. "Alright, I get it. It's enough."

"I'll keep telling you this for however long I need to. You'll believe me, someday."

Hank closed his eyes against the prickling sensation in them, and tilted his face towards Connor's again. This time he didn't resist, meeting Hank halfway in a gentle kiss.

They stayed like that for a while, until Sumo let out an impatient whine. "Gotta go," Connor murmured.

"Yeah. Hurry back, okay?"

Connor pressed one last kiss to his lips, and then turned around to go. Hank watched them walk down the sidewalk before forcing himself to head inside.

Taking a shower seemed like a good idea. It'd kill some time while waiting for them to return, and it might make him feel better. Cleaner.

There was a part of him that felt dirty and soiled, just by the mere connection of being a human like those three bastards. What David and Gloria had had together had been real and true, and those worthless motherfuckers had ripped it away.

He still felt shitty when he stepped out of the shower. He dried off and tied the towel around his waist, before dragging himself into the bedroom. He should get dressed, but the notion filled him with distaste.

The soft click of the door announced the return of Connor and Sumo. He felt his body relaxing a little.

Connor joined him a few seconds later. He looked about as bone-tired and weary as Hank felt.

"Do you mind if we just go to bed? I don't — don't feel like being awake."

Connor nodded. "Yeah, I know the feeling. Okay if I borrow something to sleep in again?" he asked, gesturing towards the closet.

Hank hesitated. "Can we just... not? I want to feel you near me, without anything between us."

Fuck, saying shit like that was dangerous. He really needed to rein himself in before he gave himself away completely. But Connor didn't seem to react badly. He just started undressing without a word, and soon stood naked in front of Hank.

He dropped the towel and moved closer, raising his right hand to rest over Connor's heart. There were no layers between them now, except for one.

"Connor," he said quietly, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything." Connor's hand came up to cover his.

Connor had seen him at his most vulnerable. Had seen him lay almost every part of himself bare. But Hank had never seen Connor truly naked. It was something he desired, but — more than that, and most importantly — he also wanted Connor to know that he could do so, any time he wished.

"Deactivate your skin."

Connor's hand twitched, as if he'd made an abortive attempt to snatch it away. "W-why?"

"Because I'd like to see that part of you, too. It's nothing you need to hide, Connor. It's just you."

"I..." His eyes darted away, LED a flickering yellow.

"But only if you want to. If it's something you're comfortable with. If not, I'll never mention it again."

"I'll look really different," Connor said. His eyes met Hank's gaze. "I won't have any hair."

Hank smiled softly as he lifted his left hand to flick the stray curl falling over Connor's forehead. "I'd feel the exact same way about you even if you were bald," he said, mimicking Connor's earlier declaration.

The corner of Connor's mouth curled into a lopsided smile. "Alright. Then close your eyes, please."

He did. His right hand was still resting over Connor's heart, and moments later the sensation beneath his palm changed. The soft skin turned smoother, almost a bit glossy and slick. It felt harder too, and — to his surprise — warmer.

"You can look now," Connor said. His voice was unsteady, and there was a slight tremor passing through his body as well.

He opened his eyes. Connor stood there, clearly scared yet still leaving himself open for Hank. God, but he was beautiful in every way. Hank wanted to say so, but he knew that if he opened his mouth those three forbidden words would come rushing out.

He trailed his fingers over Connor's gleaming white body instead. Slowly moved them along the edges of the darker portions, following the gray that curved beneath his cheekbones and then dipped up again at his chin.

He kissed Connor's forehead, his cheek, his collarbone, and then bent down to kiss the circular outline of the Thirium pump regulator. 'I love you,' he mouthed against it, safe in the knowledge that Connor couldn't see.

"Hank," Connor said urgently, tugging him upwards. He went willingly, and found himself being pulled in for a kiss as soon as he'd straightened up.

Connor's lips were less pliant, not quite as yielding, but it made no difference. It was still one of the best kisses they'd shared, as far as Hank was concerned. And judging by the low sound that escaped Connor's throat, he felt the same way.

He moved them both towards the bed, never breaking the contact. They tumbled into bed, teeth clattering together. "Ow," Hank said, chuckling. Connor kissed him again, swallowing his laughter.

After a while the kisses turned slow and languid. Hank lost himself in it completely, eyes closed until the feel of something wet made them snap open.

The only thing lighting up the room was the gleam from the streetlamps outside and the soft blue glow of Connor's LED. But that was more than enough to see the glittering tracks of tears on his face.

"Hey," Hank whispered, "what's wrong?"

"Hm?"

"You're crying." He reached up to gently wipe Connor's cheek. His eyes followed the movement, blinking in obvious surprise.

"Oh," he said. "I didn't realize." Another tear slid from his eye, dripping over Hank's fingers.

"No, hey, don't cry. Shh, sweetheart, it's okay, please don't cry. Tell me what's wrong. I'll fix it, I promise," he babbled, desperate.

Connor's lips slowly slanted into a smile. "I think I know what you meant now. About how it sometimes hurts to be happy."

Oh. That was completely different, though — Connor wasn't about to lose him. Couldn't ever lose him, no matter what happened.

"I never thought this would be something you wanted," Connor continued. "Never thought you'd want to touch me when I'm like this, much less kiss me."

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way."

He shook his head. "No, I didn't mean it like that. You haven't done anything wrong."

Hank disagreed, but that wasn't important. Erasing that look of insecurity in Connor's eyes was the only thing that mattered. "You're beautiful," he said. He didn't give a fuck if it gave him away. It was something that clearly needed to be said. "You're beautiful the way you usually are, and you're beautiful like this. You're beautiful inside and out, and I — I'm so glad you let me to see you like this. Thank you, Connor."

Connor's bottom lip quivered. He blinked rapidly, fruitlessly trying to fight back the tears.

Hank wiped them all away, smiling softly. "So please don't cry, okay? Seeing you cry makes _me_ wanna cry, too. And that'll just be ugly, trust me. You don't want to see that."

"You're right about the last part, at least. But you could never be ugly, Hank. Not to me. I think you're beautiful, too. The most beautiful thing in the whole world."

He'd managed to fight it down before, but shit, if Connor kept saying stuff like that he really _was_ liable to start bawling. He leaned forward, stealing another kiss.

Connor melted into the contact, and soon the tears stopped falling. Hank pulled him close, letting sleep come.

\----

Hank jolted awake an indeterminable couple of hours later, sitting straight up in bed. He'd been dreaming, but he couldn't remember the details — he could guess, though. It was going to be hard to let Connor out of his sight for the foreseeable future.

He glanced down at Connor. He was lying on his side, facing Hank. He had activated his skin again.

He silently crept out of bed and went to the bathroom. He washed the sweat from his face and tried to get his heart to stop racing. He felt exhausted, and the lingering dream only made it worse.

Connor was awake when he returned. He looked at Hank and, without saying a word, stretched one arm across Hank's side of the bed.

He lay down, resting his head on the makeshift pillow. Connor angled his hand to bury it in Hank's hair, fingers gently rubbing against his scalp. His other arm went across Hank's waist, hand moving up and down his back in slow strokes.

It was all wrong — he'd made Connor cry; _he_ was the one who should be doing the comforting, not the other way around. But he was so damn tired, and Connor's hands were so soothing, that he found himself about to doze off within mere minutes.

"Stay," he murmured, on the edge of sleep.

"Does it look like I'm about to get up and leave?" Connor asked, chuckling softly.

"Meant forever," Hank tried to clarify. His voice sounded a bit slurred, and something in the back of his head yelled a warning. He was too tired to care.

"Hank, I..."

"What?" he tried to ask, but it came out as more of an unintelligible grunt instead.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

He tried to force his eyes open to at least get a look at Connor's facial expression, but it was no use. Sleep pulled him under.

\----

He woke up alone. The sunlight was streaming in through the blinds, illuminating the empty spot beside him.

It was the first time Connor hadn't stayed in bed with him. Even after Hank had first kissed him he'd stayed — he'd been uncomfortable and tense, but he had still _stayed_ until Hank woke up.

There was a sinking feeling in his gut. He'd let too much slip, hadn't he? It all added up, all those revealing things he'd said and done last night. Asking Connor to stay forever had been the last drop. Of course it had been. How much more obvious could he get? Fucking _idiot_.

He finally forced himself to roll out of bed and get dressed. He slowly walked into the bathroom to take a piss, before going out to the kitchen.

Connor was there, cooking breakfast. Bacon and eggs. His face was blank, projecting a total lack of emotion.

Hank silently sat down at the table and waited. Connor set a plate in front of him, and then turned back around to put the dishes in the sink. He didn't sit down with Hank to keep him company while he ate, the way he'd always done before.

"I've thought a lot about that case yesterday," he said. His voice was calm and even, perfectly controlled. "About David, and the way he never had a chance to tell the person he loved how he felt. I... I don't want to be like that."

Hank raised his fork and slowly plunged it into the yolk of his sunny-side-up egg. It bled all over his plate, quietly and without anyone taking notice of it. "I get it," he said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

Yeah, he got it, alright. Connor wanted to go find that special someone he had his heart set on, and there was no reason in the world for him to ever want to be with Hank again.

He'd never get to kiss Connor again; the right lost forever. God, why hadn't he done it more often? He'd been such a fool to put it off for so long, so blind to have fought against the feelings that had always been there.

"Then..." Connor started, tearing him from his thoughts. He swallowed and forced a smile. Self-hatred could come later, for now he had to put up a happy front for Connor's sake. He deserved nothing less.

"You don't have to say any more. I understand how you feel. So let's just end things right here and now." He looked down at his egg again and cut off a piece, not wanting to see the relief that was sure to be on Connor's face.

The egg tasted like ash.

"But I thought..."

"Connor, c'mon. You don't have to explain. It's better this way, you know? A clean break. This thing had run its course anyway."

Connor was silent. Hank continued eating, each mouthful making him feel more and more nauseous.

"I'll see you at work then," Connor finally said. His voice was oddly clipped, but it was all Hank could do to just keep himself together — he couldn't risk actually looking at Connor.

"Yep, see you."

Connor left. For once he didn't stop on the way to say bye to Sumo. Maybe he was already preoccupied with trying to decide on the best approach when it came to confessing his feelings to his mystery man.

The thought of Connor with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates made him laugh.

He laughed so hard that he disturbed Sumo, who came to put his big head in Hank's lap. He whined unhappily, clearly worried as his wet nose pushed against Hank's hand.

"You dummy, I'm not crying."

Sumo didn't believe him.


End file.
